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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24524569">When In Rome</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsdia0/pseuds/heyitsdia0'>heyitsdia0</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Longer Fics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Ancient Rome, Angst, BAMF Aziraphale, Blood and Violence, Complete, Drama, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Harm to Children, Human AU, Infidelity, M/M, Marriage, Mild Gore, Misconceptions, Multi, Mutual Pining, Past Sexual Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Protective Crowley, Religion, Slow Burn, Tension, like aziraphale’s shop hours the update schedule is hard to pin down</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 07:01:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>102,116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24524569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsdia0/pseuds/heyitsdia0</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ancient Rome AU based on true events that literally nobody asked for, and yet, here we are.</p><p>10/8/20 Update: Uploads are now once a week. Hope you can understand, high school is hard lol</p><p>3/24/21 Update: ...Finished! Thank you all so much for this amazing journey. Xx</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Longer Fics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pale September</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lijahlover/gifts">lijahlover</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22366060">Forbidden Roman(ce)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens">WorseOmens</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <strong>Rome, Fall 219</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> Aziraphale looked out over the sprawling villa, and hesitantly took a step forward. It would be his first day as a charioteer for the new emperor, and he couldn’t mess it up. After all, he was the emperor- he could have his head!</p><p> He tried to imagine what he was like; of course, he had heard things. Mostly good things. Some, not so much. There were the usual rumors, ones that Aziraphale would be rather embarrassed to hear if they had been about him; but he smiled knowing that he wouldn’t want to worry - he was just a slave and nothing more. No one was supposed to care about him. No one was meant to. It was just how life went.</p><p> What he had gathered, though, from the time that he had arrived from local gossip, was that the new emperor was wily, enjoyed not-quite-illicit pleasures, and that he was <em> handsome.  </em></p><p>Not that Aziraphale really cared one way or the other - he came here with a job to do, and, though simple, it kept him off the streets.</p><p> And that was far more than he could have ever asked for, to begin with. He was lucky to have even been considered for the position. There were thousands of other young men like him, and here he was, walking up to the palace.</p><p> He approached the ornate front doors and knocked, waited, and then smiled when it was opened by a young woman.</p><p> “Ah, hello,” he said cheerfully. “My name is Aziraphale. I come at the bequest of Julia Soaemias and her son, the new-”</p><p> “Emperor, yes,” the woman muttered snidely. “I shall see to it that they know you have arrived….” she paused, glanced over his shoulder, and then back at him. “Where is your master?”</p><p> “Er…” Aziraphale fiddled with his tunic, then remembered his place and jerked his head upwards to meet hers. “He left-well, he dropped me off here, said that-”</p><p> “Never mind, it is of no consequence,” the woman stared at him for a moment. “Well?”</p><p> “Well what?”</p><p> “Oh, you-”</p><p>“Valeria,” an icy voice called from behind the woman - Valeria - and immediately, Aziraphale could see the drastic change in her composure. “What’s the matter?”</p><p> “Nothing, nothing,” Valeria began, but the man pushed her aside. Aziraphale gasped when he saw him - there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it was <em> him. </em>“Who are you?” The man snarled, his sharp amber eyes piercing into Aziraphale’s blue-grey ones.</p><p> “Ah, I am Aziraphale, a charioteer, your lord-”</p><p> The man shook his head - actually, he appeared closer to Aziraphale’s age, perhaps even younger. It felt wrong calling him a man, when his face and eyes belonged to that of a boy not yet on the verge of adulthood.</p><p> “No, I’ll have none of that in <em> my </em> palace,” Aziraphale gulped. It was him, alright. The other boy leaned forward until their noses practically touched, until Aziraphale could feel the heat of his breath on his cheeks, until his lips were mere centimeters apart from his. “You call me what I ask to be called. Valeria, take him in. I want to show him off to my mother.”</p><p> Valeria acquiesced, pulling Aziraphale into the impressive front room. The other stared at him for a moment, before dismissing her, and then grabbed him by the hand.</p><p> “Do you know of any doctors?”</p><p> “Doctors?” Aziraphale blinked. He hadn’t expected the conversation to go like this. Well. In all honesty, he’d never expected talking to <em> him </em> at all. “No...I’m just a simple slave. I don’t...well, you must know, of course, that we don’t really,,,deserve medical care.”</p><p> “Is that what your last master told you?”</p><p> “Er…”</p><p> “That’s a shame. Don’t worry, you’ll be treated well here,” he paused, as if he were to say something else, but didn’t, until a few moments later when a stately woman appeared from a door in the back of the room. “Ah, mother! Your new boy is here!”</p><p> Aziraphale bowed his head. “I am so ever grateful, lady Julia, for your kindness in allowing me here.”</p><p> Julia Soaemias.</p><p> She had just as much power as her son, if not more. </p><p> “And you must be?”</p><p> “Aziraphale,” the other cut in. “I’m sure he’ll be lovely, mother.”</p><p> “That’s up to my discretion, Aurelius,” and she gracefully walked across the room, her eyes never leaving Aziraphale. “Are you trained, boy?”</p><p> “Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said proudly, still fumbling with the clasp on his shoulder. Her eyes seemed to be drawn to it; and then to him again. “Is that your former Masters clasp?”</p><p> “Yes, my lady,” he watched as she frowned, walked away, and did not return for several minutes. “I may be out of line here, but have I done something to offend?”</p><p> Aurelius (the name didn’t seem to fit him) shook his head. “No. I’m sure she will be back momentarily,” and he plummeted to the floor, sprawling out bonelessly, as if he were a snake, or some other creature that….didn’t have bones. <em> Do snakes have bones? </em>Aziraphale was unsure. “Sit.”</p><p> He did so, and when Julia returned, she presented him with a shining gold clasp. On it was an engraving of the sun. “Stand,” she ordered, and he did, wincing as she removed the old clasp. It had taken ages for him to earn it. “Cassia?”</p><p> Immediately, a young girl hurried to his side, rearranging the new clasp onto his tunic so that the emblem shone in the light. </p><p> Julia gave him a hint of a smile and stood back, eyeing him and her son. </p><p> “Yes, I should think that he will do nicely...What do you think, my son?”</p><p> Aurelius glanced at him and nodded. “Yes, he will be fine. As long as he doesn’t crash and hurt my horses.”</p><p> “Indeed,” Julia muttered, rolling her eyes. “Well, enough of that. Cassia, show…” Aziraphale reddened. “Aziraphale,” he supplied, embarrassed though not surprised. She waved a hand as Cassia linked their arms together. “Yes, Aziraphale- show him his quarters and instruct him of his duties.”</p><p> “Of course, my lady,” and Cassia walked him out of the room. “Say, how old are you?”</p><p> Aziraphale hummed. He hadn’t really thought about that. “15, give or take.”</p><p> “Really? I’m twelve!”</p><p> “And do you enjoy working for the emperor?”</p><p> “Oh, I suppose so. He’s always out, though, so I don’t really know what he’s like.” They turned a corner and began walking down a long, looming hallway. </p><p> “I mean, it’s not unusual, is it?”</p><p> Cassia paused at the end of the hallway, looked behind them, and then at him. “Normally, I would say so, but...he’s always out at <em> night. </em>And he never comes back until mid-morning!”</p><p> Aziraphale considered this, and then thought to change the subject. Best not to question it, he supposed. “Oh. Is he...er...kind?”</p><p> “Well, I didn’t think so, at first, but now I do. He lets me water his plants, and read to him.”</p><p> “Isn’t that because you’re a slave?”</p><p> Cassia shrugged. “Maybe. But maybe not. He seems really protective of those plants,” she drew back a curtain and let him walk in. Aziraphale turned to her, confused. <em> “Plants?” </em></p><p>Cassia nodded very seriously. “Oh, yes! </p><p> “What an odd fellow,” he mused, and then adjusted his eyes to the room around him. “My heavens, it's lovely in here!”</p><p> “That’s because it's <em> his </em> room,” Cassia whispered, a devilish glow in her eyes. He gaped at her for a moment before stuttering. “B-bu-but...we can’t be in here! Why would you take me in here?!”</p><p> “I have to clean, because I didn’t do it earlier. I thought you’d want to come along.” She began circling around the room, humming as she fluffed up cushions and dusted off portraits. </p><p> “He has….flashy taste,” he still hadn’t moved from where he had been standing; it felt almost dangerous. “Are you sure it’s alright for us to be in here?”</p><p> “Trust me, anyone’s only in here when….” she trailed off, wrinkling her nose at the thought of whatever was on her mind. “Never mind.”</p><p> “When….?”</p><p> “When what?”</p><p> “You didn’t finish your sentence,” he waved a hand helplessly as she began making the bed. She stopped, rolled her eyes, and finished it for him:</p><p> “When he’s sleeping around. Are you daft?”</p><p> “Wh-but I thought...I thought he was married!”</p><p> “That doesn’t mean anything. Weren’t you a slave before?”</p><p> “Well, yes,” Aziraphale replied mildly, noting that she had moved towards the rug. “But he was old, and he and his wife seemed very happy together...I just didn’t think the emperor would be one to….you know…”</p><p> “Have affairs? Oh, but haven’t you heard gossip? Rumors, even?”</p><p> “Of course I have!” Aziraphale muttered, taking a seat on the stone floor. “I just didn’t expect those kinds of rumors to be true.”</p><p> “You know, I could be anyone telling you these things,” she said, stopping to sit down across from him. “Would you believe them?”</p><p> “I-I don’t know,” he said quietly, toying with the threads of his tunic. “My old master said I could be quite….gullible.” </p><p> “I can see that,” she playfully punched him in the arm, stretching out against the cool floor. “I like you. What’s your name again?”</p><p> “Aziraphale,” he straightened a little, just happy to be appreciated. “You’re….Cassia, right?”</p><p> She grinned. “Mhm. You know, don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I just sit in here.”</p><p> “And do <em> nothing?” </em> He could feel his eyes widen. She sat up and nodded. “He really doesn’t use most of this stuff. I think his mother decorated it for him. So all I have to do is dust,” she pointed at a canvass on the wall. “Mostly those.”</p><p> “What are they?”</p><p> “Portraits of him.”</p><p> “That seems rather….vain.”</p><p> “I don’t think he likes looking at them much. Sometimes, when I come in here, they’re all covered up with a black sheet.”</p><p> “Ah,” that was all he said, because there was nothing else to say. “I see.”</p><p> “Anyways,” she hummed, getting up from her spot. “I‘ll show you to your room. You can meet everyone, too. I’m sure you’ll like it just fine.” He gratefully accepted her hand as they walked out slowly, as so he could take into account how to get there.</p><p> When they approached the slaves quarters, Cassia knocked three times and waited.</p><p> “Is everything al-”</p><p><em>  “Shh!” </em>She hushed, peeking into the slit under the door. “Okay, we’re good.” She pushed the door open, and then the curtains in front of it, to reveal a group of people huddled in the center of the room.</p><p> “Hi everyone, this is Aziraphale.”</p><p> The group collectively waved and said their hellos before he joined them. “I hope you don’t mind my joining all of you,” he took a seat next to a dark haired boy, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tunic as he spoke. “I’m actually-”</p><p> “You his new toy?” Someone choked out between laughter. Aziraphale glanced up to look at them, reddening at the mere thought. “What? I..N-no, of course not!”</p><p> “Oh, that’s just Dio. You’ll get used to him,” Cassia said sweetly, kneeling beside him. “Why don’t we all introduce ourselves before dinner?”</p><p> And so they did. In total, including Aziraphale, there were seven of them, which was apparently just a handful of the many others that lived in the palace. There was Magnus, the boy next to him, who worked in the stables, Livia, one of the older girls, who helped wash clothes, Cicero, whose job was still unclear, Dio, a dishwasher, and Otho, another stablehand. </p><p> “That leaves you, Aziraphale,” Livia prompted as she gathered up fabric. “What are you to be doing?”</p><p> “Oh, I’m a charioteer,” he grinned, then motioned to the bundle she was carrying. “Do you need help with that?”</p><p> “Wait, really?” She asked, eyes brightening.</p><p> “Ugh, if you want to sleep with her there are other ways,” Cicero muttered. The group nodded in agreement. Aziraphale stood up, shaking his hands wildly. “I think you have the wrong idea - I really am just trying to help, you see-”</p><p> “I think we get it, can you take some of these now?” Livia called, muffled from the now towering pile of clothes. </p><p> “Of course,” and he took them from her, surprised no one else was getting up tp help. “Do all of you just...work alone?”</p><p> “What do you mean?” Otho hummed from a slate he was staring at. </p><p> “Just...stick to yourselves,” he gestured between him and Livia. “I’m sorry, I suppose I just thought-”</p><p> “We have our reasons,” Dio cut in sharply. “You didn’t think. You didn’t see anything. You just got here - so why do you think you can make assumptions of us after just meeting us?”</p><p> “He’s right, you know,” Magnus said softly. “It really is best that you keep to yourself, Aziraphale. Things around here...they’re better that way.”</p><p> “Alright, but can’t he help me just this once?” Livia whined. “The loads are really very heavy.”</p><p> “You’re sixteen, you’re older than Aurelius himself. I don’t see why it’s so difficult,” Cicero mumbled under his breath. “But I don’t see the harm in it - do you?”</p><p> Cassia, Dio, Otho, and Magnus shook their heads. </p><p> A chime could be heard from the front of the house. Aziraphale watched in awe as immediately, everyone stood up nervously.</p><p> “What’s going on?” He asked, still holding up the clothes.</p><p> “It’s our dinnertime soon - might as well drop off the clothes along the way,” Otho gave him a grim look. “How do you feel about cold fish?”</p><p> Aziraphale frowned. He was never exactly given a choice one way or the other while at his old masters house, but he knew he didn’t like fish.</p><p> “As long as there’s olives I suppose it’ll be alright,” he hummed, and brushed past them, but stopped at the door when he realized he had no idea where to go. “Er...would it be any trouble if…”</p><p> “Say no more,” Cassia said, pulling back the curtains. “Come on everyone. I have a feeling Aziraphale is going to enjoy this.”</p><p> Aziraphale could feel his stomach sink.</p><p> He could only pray that she was telling the truth. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is based on the story of Elagabalus and Hierocles (with just a few minor adjustments) Throughout history their relationship has often been whitewashed on purpose, solely because of the controversy surrounding gay couples (and Elagabalus himself). Of course, because this is pride month, I am going to be fixing that with this fic and it is going to be so gay all those historians are going to roll over in their graves :)</p><p>This would probably not be possible without @WorseOmens. They are an INCREDIBLE writer and I wish I could have their ability. It didn’t occur to me until after I’d planned this fic out that it’s very similar to their fic, Forbidden Roman(ce) which I highly recommend that you check out. (I made sure to leave a bookmark recently, in case you don’t want to search for it) Of course, because I am writing a true-to-life story, there will probably be quite a few differences that i (hope) separates our work!</p><p>Thank you to everyone that is a returning reader. Thank you to all the new ones! -Dia ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Periphery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=LOCaWZGic7s<br/>(Chapters Song)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “Aurelius? Are you listening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The emperor glanced up from where he’d been lying on the chaise and sighed. “Yes, dear. Go ahead, I’m...listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t get it,” his wife got up from his bed and paced the room. It had never been hers to begin with; they’d always slept with a wall between them, always talked ten feet apart. It made sure nothing got broken, and that included the both of them. “You married me, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’d hope so,” he muttered. “Though I’d like to ask that you call me Antoninus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, and lady next?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’d still be better than the shit all of you pull!” He stood up, and stalked over to her, then thought better of it and pulled himself away. “First I was Varius-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Like that’s any better. You think your birth name is a gift from your God? It’s an insult. Get over yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s my name, my </span>
  <em>
    <span>blood,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you blaspheme, Paula-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And you blaspheme all of Rome with your so-Godly-talk,” she edged past him until her hands were on the lectern, pulling off tablets and inscriptions one by one.<em> “To my highest Elagabalus</em> - so you really think that all of Rome will respect a man with your…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Your choices, that’s all,” because it was. “That’s all…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What I believe in is none of your business, Paula,” he rubbed his temples and approached the desk to pour himself a drink, but drew back when she didn’t. “And all of Rome will never respect anyone. It would take a </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span> God to make that possible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And who’s that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “One of mine, that’s for sure,” he snatched the bottle of wine from the desk and propped himself up on the bed until he was sprawled out comfortably enough to speak again. “You can go, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, that’s what I thought  - well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Antoninus,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can take your God and shove it up yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You as well,” he took a swig from the bottle, waited, and then left it alone. He watched as she flung open the curtains in a torrent of anger and frustration and promptly shut them. “I should really get a door put in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence until he could hear a knock on the outside wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come in,” he shoved the wine under his bed, trying to appear relaxed yet professional as possible. It was a consultant- <em>his</em> consultant. “Hey, Titus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, hello my-”</span>
</p><p><span> “Just call me Lord,” he ran his fingers through his </span>hair for a moment before standing to greet him. “Want some wine?”</p><p>
  <span> “No thank you, Lord. I wouldn’t want to upset the wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course not,” he responded dryly. “The wife. How is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine, fine. Look, Aur-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antoninus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, well, Antoninus, I wanted to advise you on some...things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, sit and we can have a chat about it,” he said, patting the bed where Titus would often sit. Titus shook his head. “No, this will be quick - I wanted to ask if you could try to...apologize to Paula.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He leaned back onto the bed, craning his neck until their eyes met again. “Apologize?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He did this so that it put people - like Titus - in an uncomfortable position. And it always worked, because now his consultant was nearing the bed until he was looking down on him. Down on the emperor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Could you please sit up, my lord?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not really feeling it now. What do you mean, apologize?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I mean that I don’t want the people to fall out of favor with you!” Titus snapped, shaking his head. “Must you sit that way? It’s improper, it’s unscrupulous, it’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’d assumed that I could sit in any way I wanted when I took this job,” he smirked, grabbing the wine bottle from under the bed. “I’d assumed that I could do whatever I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Anthony, you...you aren’t a God. The emperor may have his ways, but you are still a boy in my eyes. A boy that has yet to earn that right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus took another swig before swinging his legs over the edge, his eyes no longer soft but scrutinizing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You really think that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s the only logical way I can approach half the things you do. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>man</span>
  </em>
  <span> goes out and...and </span>
  <em>
    <span>drinks</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mark Antony,” he said, hopping onto his feet again. “The emperors who ruled from 37 to 69 all drank excessively - Caligula, Claudius, Nero, probably even Galba, if you think about it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re forgetting about the other three that ruled that same year - Otho, Vetellius, and Vespasian!” Titus short back, rubbing his temples. Antoninus smiled. He’d gotten what he wanted alright, but Titus wasn’t finished. “They were all temperant!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That doesn’t mean anything, I’ve already proved my point,” he hummed, taking another drink. “You were saying? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You never met a man like me who….?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“I’ve never met anyone like you, period,” Titus growled, his hand already on the curtains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He smiled wolfishly, perching on the edge of his bed again. “Isn’t that a good thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Titus’s face suddenly became grave; his eyes stooping to the floor. “No. You…” he began, but stopped just as he was on the verge of telling him whatever hadn’t been said already. “Remember what I said. Just apologize, and get it over with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why? I’m upset with her, and she was probably upset with me to begin with,” he got up and began pacing. “I don’t want to apologize to that...that witch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And risk your reputation?” Titus asked, his face considerably less ashen now, more surprised than anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t care about my reputation. I shouldn’t have to care about that. Let them think what they want - it’s not like I can change their minds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Titus let go of the curtain, his eyes springing around the room until they’d fallen onto him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re mad, you know that? Absolutely mad.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, I know,” he said, grinning too - his canine like teeth poking out of his smile, his amber eyes on fire once more. “But that’s the fun in it, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I...I have to go,” Titus opened the curtains, but before he could step out his eyes were on him again. “Goodnight, Antoninus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, you too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The minute the curtains were closed he hurried over to tie them up - it had been his idea, not having a door, but it made for some rather uncomfortable experiences when there was nothing to knock on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then, he walked across the room towards the door that separated his wife's chamber from his and unlocked it. She wouldn’t be in here now - he suspected she was spending the night with a friend, but that was neither here nor there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Now, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus was not one up for stealing, or stalking, or breaking into someone’s room. But he figured that if he owned the room, and the things he was about to take had been bought by him, that it wasn’t really stealing or breaking in, but rather, </span>
  <em>
    <span>accessing</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He pulled out a massive trunk from the corner, and then yanked it and a dresser drawer open, his hands blinding searching. He’d forgotten to bring a candle with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, here we are,” he whispered happily, pulling out a wig and some clothes, wincing as he felt the fabric. He was sure it was linen. “Not my style, but I guess it’ll do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He scooped up all the items, and then managed to get himself back inside his room without breaking anything - which for him, was a bit of a record. He took off the clasp from his toga, letting it fall to the ground, and then searched through the clothes he’d brought with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ugh...green. Whatever,” he pulled on a stola, then the wig. He walked to the mirror that sat in the far corner of the room, smiling when he saw himself. “Could probably use some powder.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He rearranged the wig a bit until he was sure it looked alright, then hurried out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but each time he left the palace like this a surge of excitement would run through him. There was always the fear that he’d get caught, or that he would get recognized, but the pubs were so dimly lit he knew his worries were futile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, hello!” A young girl said to him. He could see a group behind her, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking hell, </span>
  </em>
  <span>there was the new charioteer in tow. This was the guy that would be driving him around. It would be weird as hell for the rest of time if he recognized him. The group collectively waved and he could see how they looked at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He tucked a curl behind his ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sexy and domineering. Right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Hello,” he said softly. “I was just about to leave - where’s the exit, again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can’t miss it,” the girl said proudly, pointing at the direction of a long hallway. “It’s just down there, and you take a left, then a right. Is that all, Miss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, thank you,” he smiled again - he’d make sure the girl got an extra dessert with dinner, or maybe even a toy. (Then again, he wasn’t sure if girls her age still played with toys.) “I appreciate it ever so much. Are you all going to dinner, now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, and can we please get on with it?” A voice from the back whined. “My back is killing me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> His eyes wandered over to who was speaking - it was a girl, and she was carrying a huge load of clothing. So was the new charioteer - was that in his job description, too? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Here, let me help,” he said, gesturing to the clothes. The group looked at each other dubiously before the girl gave in readily, handing him half of the stack. “Where are the launderers quarters?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was asking genuinely, because it dawned on him that he actually didn’t know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can follow me,” the young girl said again. “I’ve been here since the emperor was crowned!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s impressive,” and maybe a little sad. She couldn’t be older than thirteen, and he’d been emperor for what, a year now? “Do you like him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The girl nodded. “I do. He lets me water his plants. I get to talk to him a lot, and he says that he likes books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He smirked, glad that she couldn’t see it from the laundry he was carrying. “Is that so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm, and he-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, be quiet, Cassia!” A boy in the middle grumbled. “You’ve never said one word to the emperor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus frowned. That wasn’t very sporting. “I’m sure one day, you will all speak to the emperor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You think?” Cassia said excitedly, leading them into a large hall. “It would be so cool. I’d love to just talk to him about plants.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You would, eh?” He mused, dumping the clothes into a large basket. “Where did you hear that he likes books, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cassia reddened. “I...er…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s alright, Cass,” A younger boy patted her on the shoulder. He looked up at him and squinted. “You know, you look...familiar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” another boy said, but he avoided his eyes. “I think so too.” They began walking out of the room, but he could feel that they were still thinking of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who are you, anyways?” A taller boy asked, his dark eyes traveling down his body. “You may </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> familiar, but I’ve never seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Best not to question it,” the charioteer said softly - What was his name again? “Right, everyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right…” the boy with dark eyes said again. “Let’s go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Once they were out of sight, he hurried out of the back doors until he was off palace grounds. He’d made sure long ago that no guards watched over this side of the palace, and that no citizen would be able to get near it anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked for a few minutes, until he was on the doorstep of an old tavern and pushed open the door. The scents of alcohol, sweat, and food were always prevalent, but he didn’t mind; that just made the experience more fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, Antonia!” The barmaid said, happy to see him. “You look ravishing as always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you,” he said, taking his seat at the bar. “Give me whatever’s drinkable, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You got it,” and watched as he dug into the pocket of the stola. “No, no. On the house. You always pay generously - a little too generously, might I add.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Isn’t that a good thing?” He smirked, gladly accepting the drink from her. He could see her eyes scan the room and stop, her brows suddenly furrowed. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, nothing. There’s a guy who’s been looking at you for some time. Want me to throw him out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nah, nah. Don’t want to start anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to start something, Antonia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where’d you hear that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Last time you came in here, you threatened a man who only looked at me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He had it coming!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antonia, he was my brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay, well….that’s different. But it’s not like he couldn’t have said something!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re impossible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s what my wife told me last night,” he muttered, taking a drink from his cup. When he set it down, he saw the confused expression on her face. “Slip of the tongue. Sorry, Merve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She shook her head. “I told you not to call me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I like seeing the look on your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh-Huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine, Minerva. Can I have another, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, alright,” he slid the cup towards her, and she began to refill it, but stopped. He turned in his chair to see a young man standing right next to him. “Ah. Hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She handed him his cup and then directed her attention towards the new man: “Would you like anything, sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A chat with the young woman here, if you don’t mind,” he grinned in a way that suggested he knew his place in the world and was quite pleased with himself; but his judgement of himself ended there. “And maybe a drink of whatever you’ve got left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, that’ll be two denarii.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But she didn’t have to pay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus smirked at that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least I pass well,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, and continued to drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antonia’s different. When she pays, she pays more than anyone I’ve ever seen, and she doesn’t hit on our other patrons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who said anything about hitting on anyone, dear?” The man’s mouth curled into a smile, and he pulled out the coins. Antoninus bit back his own smile when he saw the coins. Made in his image his ass. They looked nothing like him. Maybe that was a good thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man turned to him and held out his hand. “Quintus. I assume you’re Antonia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I would assume so as well,” he muttered sarcastically. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Thanks for the drink, Minerva.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re welcome, Antonia. Stay safe out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You as well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He got up from his chair, knowing all too well Quintus was following him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let him follow. Maybe I can show him a thing or two. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> The minute he left the tavern to turn the corner, he stopped and let the man catch up with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know, you look really familiar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do I?” He pushed back a curl and smiled. “I didn’t know.” But he did, and this was dangerous territory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I swear I’ve…” he squinted, and Antoninus could see the cogs beginning to move in his brain. “Hey, do you wanna kiss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?” He let out an internal sigh of relief when all the confusion left his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Eh...just a question-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Quintus leaned forward without any hesitation, breaking off his sentence with his lips against his. It was never what he’d imagined kissing to be like, those kisses outside the tavern. They never were what he’d read about in books. There was never a spark, never a flutter in the bottom of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was never that sense in his soul that defined it as </span>
  <em>
    <span>love. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>In fact, he was sure he’d never been in love before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was grateful enough that it wasn’t a woman - he always felt sick after kissing one. Maybe it was from all the arsenic they enjoyed putting on their faces. At least, he hoped that’s what it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When he pulled back, he could see Quintus stare at him, and then down at the ground, and then back up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You aren’t a woman, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He grinned and wiped at his mouth. “How could you tell?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Quintus pulled himself away until they were at least a foot apart, a disgusted expression in his otherwise expressionless face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Y-you tricked me! You’re a...a…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? What am I?” He taunted, putting his hands on his hips. Quintus shook his head, made another face, and then took another three steps backwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want to know. God, that’s just….gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thanks for letting me know,” and he turned on his heel. He knew he was still looking at him, still shaking his head. He didn’t mind. “Glad I could be of service!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned the corner until he was bolting back to the palace, already pulling off his wig: it would be morning in just a few hours, and he had the most important job in Rome - running it. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>fun fact: i was named after claudius. </p><p>also I’m fairly sure those emperors were actually temperant but I only found one source to back that up https://www.alcoholproblemsandsolutions.org/alcohol-among-the-greeks-and-romans/</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Extraordinary Machine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=WQk0xTwZumo<br/>^Song used for this chapter</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale stared at his plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s wrong, Aziraphale?” Dio taunted, waving his fork around menacingly. Aziraphale cleared his throat before saying anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What exactly….is the fish in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t tell him, otherwise he won’t eat it,” someone muttered. “Don’t want to end up like Ikra.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who’s Ikra?” Aziraphale asked, tentatively lifting his cup to take a drink. A dozen pairs of eyes looked in his direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I guess I’ll tell him, then,” Livia said through mouthfuls. “She worked with Magnus in the stables - wasn’t a charioteer, of course, but we all knew she liked the horses. Anyways, she comes in here and she sits down and starts eating, but then after a few days of working here, she just...didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Was it the food?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We don’t know. She just got sick a lot. I guess that’s what we all assumed. We have a...sort of joke about what...</span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> eats, and that might have set her off a bit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “And what exactly is the joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Brains,” Cassia giggled, gesturing wildly around their heads. “They say he breaks open the skulls and eats them whole!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale winced. “I’m quite sure that’s not the case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s odd, that one,” Otho said between mouthfuls. “Even if he doesn’t eat brains, he’s got...unusual habits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Like what?” It couldn’t hurt to ask, could it? Otho swallowed, and then again, as if it would help him get the words out faster. Like he couldn’t say them at all. Maybe, he wasn’t allowed to. You could never tell with the Royal types. “They say he keeps a big cat. In the palace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s- that’s….” it was crazy. No, it was absurd. “Are you being facetious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho looked back at him very seriously. “No. I wish I was. That’s just part of it. The birds and the dogs that he keeps are always running around, making a muck of things - haven’t you seen his big black dog, yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I don’t suppose I have,” Aziraphale said softly, suddenly not as hungry for the odd concoction on his plate. He could see that their eyes hadn’t left him yet. “How’d you come to work for the emperor, anyways?” Cicero asked, narrowing his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, it’s a bit of a funny story, actually-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Try us,” Dio furrowed his brows and leaned across the table, his own eyes narrowed too. “We’ve heard it all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was a charioteer - used to participate in those racing games, actually, for my old masters enjoyment - and about a month or so ago, we got a message saying my presence was specifically requested.” He looked at a bowl full of olives to the left of him and popped one in his mouth. As he chewed around the pit, he could see their eyes widen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Y-you mean you were asked to come here?” Magnus asked, his eyebrows arched in surprise. Aziraphale nodded, slightly confused. “Yes? Am I missing something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just that...I don’t think any of us were </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come work for the emperor. Some of us were sold. A few of us were sent here, but none of us were </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Otho said, leaning back in his chair with a slump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I see,” Aziraphale delicately took the pit out as a debonair woman walked by them, scoffed, and then walked a little faster. “Who was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That,” Cicero paused between his words, as if it were something groundbreaking and important that </span>
  <em>
    <span>demanded</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pause between them - “Was Julia Maesa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Isn’t the head of the house named Julia?” Aziraphale asked, frowning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They’re not exactly original with names,” someone cursed from the end of the table. Everyone tried to stifle their laughter as Aziraphale developed the nerve to ask another question. “Who exactly is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> More laughter, but this time, less merry. Tense, more than anything, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> grandmother,” Cassia explained. “She’s alright, but a bit scary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>twelve, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cassia, you’re afraid of the dark, practically,” Dio hissed. “Aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’s no need to be harsh,” Someone else chided, chugging back a golden goblet. “You’re afraid of lots of things, Dio.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Like what?” the boy sneered, throwing his head back pompously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Snakes, for one,” Livia said as she took a hesitant bite from her fish. “The Praetorian Guard, girls, books - the list goes on and on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Books? Why are you afraid of them?” Aziraphale was genuinely intrigued. Dio squirmed in his place, his question obviously having struck a chord with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t read,” he said quietly. “I’d like to read plays - not those boring novels - but it’s impossible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “At least we’re all in the same boat,” Otho mused. “Don’t you know how much I’d love to sit down by the fire and read? Dio doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> novels,” he hesitated, and, seeing mostly everyone nodding in agreement, he went on. “I guess it doesn’t matter, though. He’s right. None of us can, and none of us ever will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The rest of the group nodded and hummed I’m contented silence, and resumed eating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The forks dropped. The eyes were on him again. Oh dear, he’d said the wrong thing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean, you can?” Dio snapped. Livia nodded. Even Magnus, who seemed to never say anything at all, was speaking up too. “You can actually read? Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale laughed, although it felt uncomfortable and unnecessary and possibly made things worse, which was made even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> worse by his answer:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course I can read.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Of course I can read</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was, unbeknownst to Aziraphale, an insult. It was as if he sort of expected them to understand that he could and had read before, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course </span>
  </em>
  <span>he knew, and that it only made </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span> for him to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A few people groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A few people wrinkled their noses in distaste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A few people tsked and continued to eat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Some didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho bit his lip, possibly holding back, but then let go. “How’d you learn?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My master had many books. His son…” he trembled, and lowered the hand that held his fork. Livia frowned. “Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “His so-his son taught me to read. And the art of racing, too, I suppose…” he dropped his fork, and then picked it back up again. “So sorry. Guess I’m just a bit tired.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho, Livia, and Dio all narrowed their eyes, but the rest shrugged it off and continued eating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, you may as well rest up now - we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” Cicero threw back his glass before slamming it on the table. “You’ll be put to use of course. Don’t expect the usual…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Training?” Aziraphale offered, standing up from his place. Cicero lowered his brow, as if he were suspicious, but nodded before he stalked away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, don’t look so grim,” Livia said as another slave came in to take their plates away. “Cicero is fine, he’s just like Dio. Except he’s a bit colder. Maybe not as harsh, just...icy. Sort of has a wall built up, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Him.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Well then what am I?” Dio snapped. “An idiot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sometimes,” Otho muttered. “The other day, you asked where the Silk Road is, and I said China-”</span>
</p><p><span> “Yes, but you just </span><em><span>heard</span></em> <em><span>Him</span></em><span> say that it was-”</span></p><p>
  <span> “Oh, but he’s right!” Aziraphale cut in, faltering when he saw the two boys turn to glare at him. Oh, dear. He’d said the wrong thing for the third time, now. “Er...Aur</span>
  <em>
    <span>-He</span>
  </em>
  <span> is right. The Silk Road is in China.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever,” Dio said as he pushed past them, voice hushed and his face red with embarrassment. “I’m going to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am too,” Cassia followed him, but then turned to wait for the others. “You all coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Magnus and Livia went first, then Otho, and then Cicero. Still, Cassia did not go with them, her eyes solely on Aziraphale. On him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah. Yes. Right,” he walked out of the room stiffly, glad to get some air, as they walked through the spacious halls. They passed by a corridor, where Aziraphale watched as a guard held up a shining gold plated sun onto the wall, right by a statue of Victoria. Then, the guard delicately laid an arrangement of gilded objects and coins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Cassia?” He whispered, pulling her aside. “What’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She motioned for the others to go and then focused on where he was pointing. “Oh, that? He’s just giving El-Gabal trophies.” She strolled down the hallway, him in tow, just trying to keep up. “What do you mean, trophies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She stopped outside the hall that led to their room and sighed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” She knocked on the door, waited, and then flung it open. “He wants to know about all the crazy stuff he’s pulled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale sat down on the floor by Livia and Magnus, noticing that they immediately shifted under the weight of the question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Livia started the conversation, because Cicero and Dio seemed to be at odds still, and nobody wanted to go through with asking them instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you want us to start with the wood, the sun, or the baths?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He considered his options. All sounded like they’d end horribly, and he’d probably regret asking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The wood, I guess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good choice. Long answer or short answer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Short?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He eats with all those noblemen - rich guys, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...yes, of course!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Word has it that he eats, but then doesn’t feed the guests,” Otho supplied, leaning in for effect. It worked too, because suddenly he had caught Dio and Cicero’s attention as well. “And that he paints their meals onto wood blocks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “T-that’s preposterous!” he sputtered, not sure whether to laugh or stare one of them down. (Okay, he was probably going to laugh, let’s be real here) “I can’t believe what any of you say is true. It just doesn’t make sense - how does one...like...</span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> get elected in the first place?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He didn’t,” Magnus hummed, glancing outside a small window. “But I suppose it’s alright. Most of these things are rumors, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s the most he’s said all week,” Cassia hissed under her breath, but clamped it shut when Livia gestured towards her to </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut the fuck up.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Sorry, Magnus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He only nodded before retreating back into a corner, messily starting a new project that seemed to involve a lot of dye and ink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale eyed the group for a moment, then got up to survey his bed. “Ah...where is it, again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cassia pointed to the floor, where a pile of straw sat huddled by Magnus. “Sorry. We have a rule, and, y’know, rules are rules.” She shrugged, and then hopped onto a patched couch. “If it makes you feel any better, this is my bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It looks...rather...cozy,” Aziraphale lied - he was sure the straw was more comfortable. “I’m going to bed, if that’s alright with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Such a shame, and I hoped we could share stories all night,” Livia pouted, rolling onto her own make-shift bed. The rest of the group laughed before eventually all of them were huddled just a few feet apart from one another, by one single burning candle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When it was finally time to start the next day, Aziraphale noticed that it was still dark. Then he realized it was not time to start the next day, and it wouldn’t be for a few hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He’d been woken up by a bad dream again, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> those hands-</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you having trouble sleeping too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He jerked upright and saw Magnus standing over him, holding a drippy candle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, hello Magnus,” he spoke warily, as if he’d just come back from a month-long journey spent in the Himalayas. “How are you this...night?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright,” Magnus whispered, sinking to the floor until they were sitting just inches apart. “But I’m tired a lot. And I had a bad dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He looked at him, and then at his own hands, illuminated by the candlelight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I did too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Really?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I suppose I did, rather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Was it particularly nasty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded, appreciative of the gentle warmth the boy brought him; it was not the kind one might expect of a lover, but rather a friend, even if they didn’t know each other that well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry,” Magnus awkwardly patted his hand, not noticing how he flinched at the touch. “I’ve gotten them quite a lot, and I’m only 15.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale gaped at him. “You’re...you’re fifteen?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Magnus bobbed his head. “Do I not look it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. I..to be honest with you, dear, I thought you were ten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Magnus sighed. “I’m not surprised. I’m much too short and I look funny, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No? What about this?” He gestured to a slight birthmark under his ear. “Does this not make you repel me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale shook his head. “Not at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh,” Magnus said happily, and Aziraphale could see that by the candle his face was glowing. “I suppose I’ll go to sleep now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was smiling too. “Me too, dear,” but his heart didn’t mean it. By the time day broke, sunlight was steaming in through their only window, and he soon found who was a morning person and who was not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho, for instance, was. He was the first to get up; everybody knew this because by the time they’d woken up, he’d already cleaned the room and left for an early breakfast before going to the stables to take care of his duties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Livia was very much the opposite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She woke up last, laid on the floor for twenty minutes, and then proceeded to complain about their situation before getting reprimanded and told to go to her post at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was no different from Otho, really, except that he managed to do everything the other did but with no sleep and less questions asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale, did you just do everything your old master told you to?” Livia murmured from her bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, we’re slaves, aren’t we?” Cicero called from the corner as he got dressed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Do everything we’re told</span>
  </em>
  <span> - that’s our </span>
  <em>
    <span>job, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Livia.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A servant flung open their door suddenly, cutting off whatever protests Livia had in mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The slave Aziraphale is supposed to be in the stables, waiting for our Lord. Where is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale raised his hand. “Right here, I’m afraid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man rolled his eyes, shutting the door behind them as they hurried out. “Come. I’m sure you have basic training?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yes, of course!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good. I will have you know our rules are much...stricter. You must be outside by seven, and no later. Our Lord enjoys midnight walks - are you willing to be ready for him then, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, of course,” he murmured, already distracting himself by fiddling with his ring. “Anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man grumbled something incoherently before opening two large doors, leading to the gardens and the world that lay beyond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sure there will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>lots</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the other stable boys to tell you,” he sneered, and slammed the doors behind him. Aziraphale exhaled before dusting off his toga. “I should hope </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t anything like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>He clucked his tongue, and would have begun walking if it weren’t for the gorgeous array of flowers that caught his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They were arranged perfectly, as if they were placed there just to be painted, just beneath the verdant trees that could be seen from behind concrete walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He looked over his shoulder, then took a step forward, and another, until he could make out a figure lying there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was Him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> His hair seemed to be ablaze against the backdrop of the roses, his skin a much softer contrast, pale and creamy and light in complexion like angels; and yet - something told Aziraphale that he wasn’t anything like an angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stared for a few seconds, taken aback at the sight of him, before the figure lifted his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know you’re there, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale jerked backwards, startled. “Er-I am so terribly sorry, your-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Either is fine,” He said, lifting himself up from the roses. He looked like a cherubic god. “Antoninus.” He grinned haphazardly before extending a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yes, of course,” and he accepted it but his smile quickly flipped as he turned over what the other had said. “I thought your name was Aurelius?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antonius shrugged, and here, Aziraphale could see that his composure was entirely different than it had been yesterday, and that his eyes were looking at him more intently than anyone had in his entire life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My royal name is ‘Marcus Aurelius Antonius’ - well you get it - but I like Antoninus much better. Suits me, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was unlike anything Aziraphale had expected, that was for sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, rather, I-” he paused and judged his expression. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean what?” He snapped, and it reminded Aziraphale that he was still the emperor, and he could still have his head. “I don’t know - I guess it’s the way you’re looking at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus shrugged. “I look at everyone like this, it makes them uncomfortable. I’m going out.” He walked away towards the stables and all Aziraphale could do was follow blindly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean, out? We haven’t had notice or-” he watched in awe as the redhead hopped onto a black horse - he wore no helmet, nor did he don any armor. “Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Out,” he vaguely threw a hand towards the direction of the city. “You can hear, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course I can,” he replied hotly. “This is most...unprofessional, of you, my Lord - aren’t I to drive you? Wouldn’t that be to your liking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s the fun in that?” He mused, taking hold of the reigns. “Listen, don’t tell those stable boys-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Otho and Magnus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, right, then - don’t say a word. I’ve made sure that they’re to be occupied for the next twenty minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What the hell do you mean by that?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He grinned, and leaned down until they were almost close enough to touch, but allowed them just enough space that they were still foreigners to one another and had no intentions of taking it a step further. It allowed them an invisible boundary line. “I let out a couple horses. Said I saw one trampling around in the woods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Y-you didn’t!” Aziraphale gasped. “Those poor animals-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s not very nice. I think I’ll tell one of ‘em you said that - What was his name? Ortho?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Otho, and no, I didn’t- oh, never mind!” Aziraphale rubbed his temples. “I cannot believe you’re doing this - they were right!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well…” he hesitated when he remembered that he was talking to the most influential </span>
  <span>man</span>
  <span> boy in Rome. “Some people have said that you’re a bit mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have they now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes. And I didn’t want to believe them, but now I’m beginning to...to do so, I suppose-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well,” Antoninus said, leaning down just an inch closer. It was just enough to tease what he could do, and that was enough to make Aziraphale squirm under his pointed gaze. “You tell them that the mad emperor said hello.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was no point in saying anything, because in an instance, the mad emperor of Rome was already charging through the garden. Aziraphale watched in minute terror as he hurdled over the palace wall, soon only a small flash of black and red against a backdrop of stark green hills. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He’s the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale thought, slightly annoyed. He glanced at the roses and smiled before walking towards the stables, happy to begin his first day. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hope you’re doing well out there. i know things are difficult, just wanted to bring you this chapter and wish you all well ❤️ much love and many hugs!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Under The Table</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WBUxinJhntk<br/>Love this song! Can not recommend it enough (Hopefully Rack Of His will also be making an appearance lol)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “I just don’t see why you allow this kind of behavior. Julia, for someone’s sake, tell him that he has to attend!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Julia Soaemias lip curled into a half smile. “Varius?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, Julia. He’s the emperor. Their </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span> to respond to that name. How will he learn to respond to the diplomats? The war correspondents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine. Antoninus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was customary to wait a second before answering; in fact, Antoninus was trained to do so. She was the emperor. It wasn’t her job to answer to anyone - it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs</span>
  </em>
  <span> to answer to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, mother?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Will you be attending Epulum Jovis?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, don’t ask him. Tell him he will,” Julia Maesa prompted. “Tell him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine, I’ll go!” Antoninus snapped, stretching her legs out rather unprofessionally. “I want to be a lady today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Julia Maesa rolled her eyes. “This again. Are you a boy or a girl? Make up your mind!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hmm...both,” she said sarcastically, toying with a lock of her hair. “Don’t you think I’d look marvelous in a dress, mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think you’d look darling. Wouldn’t he, mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, he wouldn’t. Think about the people, Antoninus! And your ceremonies. We may have priestly rites, but you are far from that here. Here, you are not the leader of our church. You are the leader of Rome. Think about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have been thinking,” she muttered. “And I want to wear a dress. To the ceremony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Julia Maesa pursed her lips. “I can’t believe you, Antoninus. You don’t listen to me. Don’t you love your grandmother? Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I love you very much,” she growled through gritted teeth. “I will not wear a dress to the ceremony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, good then!” Julia Maesa clapped her hands proudly before turning to glance at her daughter. “My daughter, tell him about some of the rules I’ve proposed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why can’t you tell me?” She asked, her eyes no longer focused on the two of them. Her grandmother sighed and took her hands, curling her bony fingers around hers. “My boy, you must learn that your mother and I are not to be trifled with. You may be above Rome, but you are never above either of us. Now, listen to your mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now, Antoninus, I know that you like your ceremonies,” her mother began, running fingers through graying hair. “But you must keep them in check. It’s vital for our success, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Our </span>
  </em>
  <span>success?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who else, dear?” Her grandmother asked as she sipped her tea. “Please don’t take offence. We really do care so much about you, and it would be such a pity if the people turned on you for something so silly!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So what I believe in, is that silly? You’ve raised me to believe that it isn’t, so by all means, tell me something new!” She got up from her chair and began to pace the room. Her throne was not there, but in a different room of the palace, and yet this chair was still gilded nonetheless, shining and sturdy and smart because that’s what she deserved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She deserved it, because it came with the job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Didn’t it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Or did she deserve it just by being her, just by being thrown into the position, thrown into a world that obviously didn’t seem to want her as much as she’d hoped it would?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not silly, love,” her mother said cheerfully, getting up to console her. “It’s just...such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>small</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing to get angry over, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So why should I have to hide my beliefs?” She continued to pace until she was standing over a long sofa. Its’ threads were spun gold. “If it’s so small, what’s the point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The point is young man that over all the things you could get exiled for, your beliefs are relatively small. Why get thrown out for something like that when you could do much worse?” Julia Maesa said quickly, standing up from her seat as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, so should I just go around making a muck of things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m asking that you save yourself the trouble,” Maesa watched as she circled around the room until she was right beside the table. “What are you doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, if there are worse things I could do, why not do this?” She swung her hand against a vase, grinning as it crashed to the floor. “Hm? If there are worse things, I could-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s enough, Antoninus,” Julia Soaemias said sharply. “Go. We don’t need you here. Not like you make much a difference anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine,” she stormed out of the room, fuming and slightly guilty. She knew that one of the slaves would have to clean up the shards. That was the only thing that could keep her from going out and running back in; but she cringed at the thought of the last time she’d done that. She’d become a blubbering, whimpering mess.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Maybe some plants will do me some good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she mused, taking her usual path towards the doors that led outside, breaking into a sprint the moment she was able to pry them open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She smiled when she could view the rows and rows of flowers, roses, and trees; she was proud of the garden, even though it really didn’t feel like hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As she waded through the knee-high grass, she could spot a figure in the center, a book in one hand and an apple in the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She took a few steps closer, hissing under her breath when she realized who it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The figure turned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was indeed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh! Oh - it’s just you,” Aziraphale said, standing up to brush himself off, dropping his book and apple in the process. “I mean-oh, heavens, I didn’t mean it like that, my…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lady, is fine,” she said, shaking a slug off her foot. “But I am still of...my nature. Have you ever considered it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er...considered what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Being of a different….</span>
  <em>
    <span>you know,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she gestured between his legs, causing him to blush. “Haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not really, no,” and he shifted under her stare, obviously uncomfortable. “So. Lady?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “If you believe it suits me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose it does - you do look-” Aziraphale reddened, and then looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry, my Lady. Have I overstepped?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not in the slightest.” Antoninus frowned and picked up the book he had been reading. “I didn’t know slaves could read.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So I’ve been told,” the blonde said quietly. “If I may be so bold, does everyone call you Lady? I can’t imagine...well…” he drifted off, his bold demeanor receding back inside. “Terribly sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can’t imagine my mother calling out for her daughter, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s alright. Really. You’re right, though. Don’t think either of ‘em actually care. Today, how do I appear to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Royal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was thinking more along the lines of...y’know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Oh!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh, yes, yes of course, dear. Female.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good,” she murmured, picking up the apple. “Good.” She hesitated before holding it out to him. “If I were on the street, a simple commoner amongst nobles, would you take this apple from me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It depends on the price,” Aziraphale said softly, his eyes running over it. Antoninus shook her head. “No. The price is free. Would you take it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I…” his mouth twisted into a half frown. “I’m confused. Is this a trick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. Just answer the question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, yes of course,” Aziraphale repeated, paused, and then took it from her. “Now what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus grinned. “You have been caught in the trap of a lowly demon's wiles, and your soul has been taken! Of course, you could have always refused it. Take the higher moral ground.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A-a demon?” Aziraphale squeaked. “But all I did was take the apple!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, and do you think that all Caesar did was win a few wars, land a few victories?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...he..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You read, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Then I should think you know better than I that little leaks sink the ship. You took my apple. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She watched and waited as Aziraphale tore his eyes away from her to look at the ground again. “I suppose it would be because you were just a commoner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you trust them more than us? Here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale’s eyes strayed away further, and she could see his answer. A resounding yes, and yet no words were needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why is that, do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know,” Aziraphale sighed bitterly before settling back on the grass. “It must be because you don’t exactly have a…shining reputation, as they say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do they?” She asked, genuinely intrigued. She sat down across from him, enough distance between them that they wouldn’t be considered anything more than what they intended to be. “I can’t imagine. Do tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er...well...there just so happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “To be a rumor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Yes?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“That…” Aziraphale buried his head in his hands, muffling the rest of his sentence. She rolled her eyes and edged a little closer. “Oi. Out with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That you eat brains, damnit!” Aziraphale said the last part a bit too loudly and, upon seeing the look on her face, lowered his head again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Never heard that one before. Nope, don’t think so. You want to ask me anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you being honest?” He lifted his head, staring at her for a split second before shrugging. “I gather it won’t hurt. Alright - so you don’t eat brains - do you eat anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course I eat. Are you mad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. I’m just doing what I was told!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, you aren’t very good at that. How about we switch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever do you mean, my lady?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I ask. You answer. Simple.” She stretched out, grateful for the sun's warmth. Aziraphale pondered for a minute, nodded, and did the same. “I accept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay. What’s your favorite color?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s a question. Answer it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about that before. I suppose that I just sort of...like and enjoy all of them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My God, you really are awful at doing what you’ve been told.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s what I meant earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “About what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Your God. I’ve only been here for a day now but already I’ve seen that it’s caused quite the stir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So it has. I don’t see why anyone should care. I let most of ‘em worship their Gods. Why can’t I worship mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what has your God done, hm?” Aziraphale said quickly, taking a bite into his apple. Amused, Antoninus smirked at that. “I see I finally hit a chord. So you do have a personality. Interesting, I must say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Religion is not a personality trait,” Aziraphale corrected snappishly, taking a second bite. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You of all people</span>
  </em>
  <span> <em>should know that better than I.”</em> He stood to leave, gathering his book and half-eaten apple before turning to look at her. “I’m sorry. I have to go check on the horses.” And he stormed off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus fumed the rest of the day. She didn’t feel like racing off after Aziraphale. They didn’t know each other that well yet, anyways. So she wandered around for a while until the dinner bell rang; and even then she didn’t really feel up for a chat with her mother (or grandmother, for that matter) so she walked back to her bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Paula?” She called, taking off her shoes, collapsing onto the bed, wondering when her wife would come in, when the door separating their rooms opened. Julia Paula let out a sigh and approached the bed, stopping at the edge, as she always did. It was uncharted territory. Why cross the boundary line when you don’t know what lies ahead?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There you are. I talked to your grandmother this morning and she and I both agreed we need a door put in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why? Aurelius, what if we want to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Want to what?” She asked, sitting upright to look her in the eyes. “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know. Have a sex life,” her wife muttered, tossing back her hair. “Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to have some privacy? You aren’t going to be a boy forever, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You sound like my mother. Listen, Paula. You know I love you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, is that so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes!” She groaned, exasperated. “I don’t know how to fucking show you, because obviously telling you isn’t proving anything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can prove it,” Paula said, lowering herself onto her until they could feel breast against breast, nose against nose, thighs against thighs. “You’re all of a man, aren’t you? Don’t you want this? With me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus bit her lip, unsure of what to say or do or where to put her hands. Whatever she was going to say next was cut off as Paula pushed her lips on hers, pinning her for a moment before letting go. Paula caught her breath and frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You aren’t. Are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus shrugged her off, rolling onto her side to think but nothing came. Instead, her mind became a crowded flood-like mess of garbled words and things she couldn’t forget, but had tried incredibly hard to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you think we could still…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll come back later, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus didn’t go to sleep that night till long after Paula had come back and the last candle burned out.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the chaotic schedule,, love you guys ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. On The Bound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/7c6OVI7MUvs</p><p>I knew I forgot something! There’s the link for the song I used for this chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “Are you allowed to do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Startled, Aziraphale jumped from where he’d been eating to address the voice behind him. He had been working under the emperor for two weeks now. This was their third meeting, excluding the one where Antoninus had transformed into Antonia. “Er - it’s just lunch, of course - I mean, hello, my-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve been told I am to ask you to call me Lord,” the redhead said sourly. “Everyone must.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And are you alright with that?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely interested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose so. It’s not that I don’t mind being a man. I just get bored of it, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I see-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can always call me by my first name, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale reddened, but remembered to bow, almost tripping over the food he’d laid out for himself. “Of course, Aurelius.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Antoninus, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you idiot</span>
  <em>
    <span>.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>His voice was sharper now, cutting through the comfortable fabric of their conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“I am terribly sorry, my lord. I won’t do it again. I...I should really be getting back to the stables, of course, so I will leave you be with your...roses.” He gathered up the food in a cloth bag and then started to walk away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I shouldn’t have called you an idiot. I-I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p><span> He turned to look at him; he really was just a teenager - a bit incompetent, </span><em><span>but</span></em> <em><span>a nice one, </span></em><span>he thought happily, and set down the bag. “It’s alright. You’re an emperor - it’s how you’re supposed to be.”</span></p><p>
  <span> Antoninus grimaced. “Is that really how you think of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not how I think of anyone. It’s a fact that Roman emperors are designed to be this way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And who told you </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antoninus growled, now approaching him. “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I...well, my old master, actually-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s not your master anymore, is he, though?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he murmured, lowering his head. “He’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You listen to me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>slave. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I make the rules….so…” he trailed off, and waved his hand. “Sod it. Just don’t go around talking about your old master, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale bit his tongue, holding back what he was going to say, but the only word still slipped out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus spun around on his heel, placing his hands onto his shoulders - it was odd, though, because they seemingly fit there. It sent a quick jolt through his spine, which he ignored when he noticed how angry the other looked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why?! Because I don’t want to hear it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s not a very good reason!” Aziraphale shot back, shrugging off his hands. “I do apologize. But please, must you be so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “So?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Forceful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “I’m an emperor, I’m designed to be this way,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antoninus mocked. “And here I thought you would be the type to enjoy that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blushed. “What do you mean by that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s a joke that we have around here,” Antoninus muttered. “Forget it. What d’you have to eat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh! Some olives, a little cheese round, and some crackers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like olives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t?” He asked, softening up again. “Surely, you’ve eaten one, haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Eh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Eh? What does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It just means, ‘eh’,” the redhead picked up the cheese and took a bite. “Not bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale beamed. “Would you like some more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh...nah. You can eat it. I’m not one for...snacking,” at that he twisted his face back into a grim frown before dropping to the ground to rest. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> love a good meal. You can’t really get them, when you’re a slave, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “True.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It suddenly dawned on Aziraphale that he hadn’t been dismissed yet; so he stood there next to him, waiting for his next command, when Antoninus waved his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you going to eat or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er...yes, yes of course,” grabbing an olive but still not daring to sit next to him. He could feel his eyes burning into him. “Is anything the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just didn’t know I was ill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus stretched out on the grass, laying a hand on his chest. “You won’t sit next to me, and I thought it was because I repulsed you,” he sighed dramatically, which made Aziraphale laugh. “Of course you don’t, my lord. I’m sorry, I was waiting for your command.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He sat slightly closer, popping the olive into his mouth, wincing at the pit. They simmered in the awkward silence until Antoninus cleared his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s a stupid rule,” he mused, eyeing him carefully. “Hey, can I ask you something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “O-of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why’s your hair blonde?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was glad he wasn’t drinking, or else he might’ve choked. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You stand out amongst others here, you know,” Antoninus poked at his forehead before grinning. “No one else looks like you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah….thank you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, sorry. Yes, it was a compliment,” but he continued to stare. “How d’you get hair like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale could feel his face redden. “It’s natural, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Really?” Antoninus’s smile widened. “I wish I could look like you, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, that’s funny! I must tell Cassia that,” he ate a cracker, surprised at the confused expression on the other’s face. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wasn’t joking,” he said softly. “Why would I be joking? You look rather….Greek.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That isn’t exactly a good thing to be here, though, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well…” Antoninus trailed off. “Guess not, but the compliment still stands, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale thought about this. “Yes, it does rather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, where are you from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Caria - and you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus bit his lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean, you don’t know?! Aren’t you a Roman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well…” he ran a hand through his hair, his pale face red and embarrassed. “I hear things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “If I may be so bold…what things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, to tell you the truth, my mother tells me I was born in Emesa - that’s where she was born - and I don’t doubt her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But...what do the others tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He gave him a bitter look and shrugged. “I was raised there - what do they know? I’ve heard all kinds - that I’m Carian, or Syrian, and if I’m lucky, a pure Roman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is that all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus didn’t say anything for a minute, before gathering up his knees, staring at the palace walls, then at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They called me Varius, back home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Varius? I think that's a nice-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Antoninus hissed, turning on him, almost toppling him to the ground. “It’s a fucking insult to my mother and to me and to my </span>
  <em>
    <span>family.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry - I-I don’t understand, my lord.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale watched as the other boy rolled over, avoiding his expectant stare. He let him be for a moment until he was ready to say anything more:</span>
</p><p><span> “It’s because my mother had </span><em><span>various</span></em> <em><span>lovers.”</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Oh...that’s...I’m sorry. I mean, it’s not nice of them to..” he stopped, realizing it probably wouldn’t do any good. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Same here,” Antoninus muttered. “You ever been married?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale laughed nervously. “Of course no- I mean, no, not yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have. I mean - I am. Still. I don’t think she likes me very much anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s too bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nah,” and Aziraphale could see him bite his lip again. “Between you and me, I think she’s in it for the money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What a shock,” Aziraphale replied dryly, but he smiled when he saw Antoninus break out into a grin. “It really can’t be that bad, my lord-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, it is,” the redhead said, voice suddenly serious. He sat up, so their eyes could meet, before he went on. “We only share a few interests-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I thought you were going to ask me what those were,” Antoninus said, face flushing again. Aziraphale smiled. “Well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t laugh - clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s nothing,” Aziraphale reassured him. “All emperors cared about how they looked, didn’t they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, but history doesn’t seem to like a single one of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah. That’s right,” Aziraphale sighed, and stood, brushing himself off. “I really must get back to work. It was…” he gauged the other’s reaction before finishing. “Er...interesting getting to know you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus stood, apparently impressed, which made Aziraphale feel better. “Never heard that one before....um, you as well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale walked back to the stables, practically radiating sunshine. “Hello, Magnus. Otho,” he replied cordially. They stared at him, then exchanged looks, and then back at him. “Hello, ‘Ziraphale,” Magnus said. “Have you seen the emperor yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yes!” He was slightly giddy, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he felt as though he’d made a friend, even though they were from </span>
  <em>
    <span>an unexpected quarter. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“We just spoke in the garden-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And is he going anywhere?” Otho cut in, looking him up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale, you have to know if and when he’s leaving! You’re his personal charioteer for Jupiter’s sake!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Shut it!” A woman walking by them snapped. “Do you want one of them to hear you?” She clucked her tongue before hurrying away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have I missed something?” Aziraphale asked quickly, trying to watch their expressions. Otho muttered something under his breath. “It’s him. We’re not meant to praise any other God, except for his.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, right. El-Gabal, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s the one,” Otho hummed. “Magnus, give me that brush, will you? I have to clean Stalks-By-Night.” Aziraphale decided asking another question probably wouldn’t hurt, and Otho hadn’t gotten tired of him yet, so there was no reason not to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s Stalks-By-Night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s a joke,” Otho groused as he showed Aziraphale the horse. “Her name is actually Snapdragon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s...an unusual name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s an unusual person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You mean...that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> horse?” Aziraphale glanced at her - she was very pretty, but all black and a bit menacing looking. Magnus nodded. “Mhm. She’s actually quite gentle. I think he likes to….tell himself that she’s vicious, but we all know how sweet she is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know, after talking to him, I really don’t see how anyone could dislike him. He’s very witty, a bit of a charmer, of course, but-” he paused when he saw their horrified expressions. “But of course he’s still...wily. Very wily, actually, and, nasty, sometimes, and erm..a bit…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Devilish?” A voice called from behind him. Stunned, he turned to see none other than Antoninus standing there by the gates of the stables. “I’m glad you think so. Wouldn’t want people getting the wrong opinion about me, eh?” He looked up, judged the other boys expressions, and then at Aziraphale. “Listen. Can you take me out for a few minutes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course, my lord,” Aziraphale gestured for Magnus to bring him Snapdragon. “Where are….” Otho began, stopping to watch as Antoninus mounted the horse on his own. “Lord, this is most unprofessional - we are to help you onto the horse!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s another stupid rule. Is that even in your job description?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...not technically, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Then don’t do it. What do I pay you for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t pay us, actually-” Magnus pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Quiet,” Antoninus snapped. “If it’s not your job, don’t do it. I don’t need you helping me on the horse. Besides, if I did need someone, I’d ask Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho lowered his brow. “Why him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because he’s my charioteer. You are to clean up after the horses, feed them, take care of them - not to help me onto them. Do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho twisted his mouth into an unnatural smile. Magnus only nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good. Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, my lord?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Attach the carriage, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale did, avoiding the two boy’s surprised looks, then waited for his next order, watching as the emperor rolled his eyes. “You can just get in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want to ride Snapdragon. She’s my horse, I named her, and I spend time with her. So. Stay in the carriage, and you can guide me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What, and you’ll lead?” Otho scoffed, shaking his head. “You better be careful, lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have him with me, I’ll be alright,” he muttered, taking the reins. “Not like I care anyways.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They would have almost gotten off the palace grounds if it hadn’t been for the guard that stopped them outside the gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey - aren’t you the new emperor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “New? I’ve been doing this for a year, mate,” Antoninus remarked, sharing an amused glance with Aziraphale. “Can’t you just let us through?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, my lord, but it’s against her orders. You’ll have to return back or else I’m meant to report the both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, but can’t you just...y’know...pretend I didn’t? Not like anyone’ll notice.” Aziraphale clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter while the exasperated guard rubbed his temples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lord, if I may be so brazen, you run the entire empire, I’m quite certain someone will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But not everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We do tend to our own affairs, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh-huh. Hey, what’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Leviticus, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Great - nice to meet you, Levi - you got any kids, Levi? A wife, husband, perhaps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The guard blushed. “Yes, my lord. Er. Yes to having the kids and...the wife, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I could always compensate you, maybe you all could picnic down at the Tiber, have a nice holida-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antoninus?” An older woman - it had to be Julia Maesa - hurried towards the chariot, her eyes blown wide with contempt and a hint of displeasure. “What are you doing out here? And...are you on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>horse?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “It would appear so, yes, grandmother.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Ah, right, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale thought, judging the two of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I forgot they were related.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“A filthy, disgusting animal and my grandson...get off of it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Her-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, never mind that, it doesn’t have any feelings,” she snapped, grabbing him by his tunic. “Come with me - is that your charioteer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus grinned, his mouth forming the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>Say yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Aziraphale didn’t know what to do, so he opened up the door of the carriage instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah...hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What are you doing in my grandsons carriage and not at the front, where you belong?” She hissed. He could see where he got the snappishness from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, my lady. He asked and I obliged. Emperor’s orders, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa huffed at his response. “Well, as long as you’re obedient I don’t see an issue. Antoninus, we’re going to have to have another discussion, you and I, about orders and what not to tell your slaves - for El-Gabal’s sake, you could have gotten someone hurt!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She led them past the gate, then through the palace, stopping outside a rococo door, her eyes suddenly fixated on Aziraphale. “I presume you know what you are to be doing at this hour other than encouraging my grandsons vices?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, my lady.” He turned to glance at the other boy, who was almost trembling. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is that even possible?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> No, it couldn’t be. After all, this was the emperor of Rome. Why would he be afraid of his own grandmother? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antoninus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, grandmother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I will see you later. Please tend to Julia Paula. She had a sinking spell this morning and is requesting your presence. After that, you will need to report to the mid-day luncheon with Tiridates, from Armenia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But do I have to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s your job to meet with people,” Maesa barked. “Haven’t you learned that yet? Am I to do everything for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, of course not,” Antoninus murmured, arching his head so he was now looking down to meet her sharp gaze. It was a bit shocking, how his entire demeanor could change in an instant like that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost like a shapeshifter,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale thought, but not in the way that he’d read about in books. No, this was different. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> was different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could see, from the way he drew back and then straightened his back, that the confidence he tried so hard to put forth was a front, but he did it so well you couldn’t have known it unless you knew him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa rolled her eyes, disappearing into the room before them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think we should have taken the back entrance,” Antoninus looked at him for a moment, his face screaming, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, no shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Obviously,” he muttered, examining his fingernails. “Great. Now I have to go see Paula. Lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And that is…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My wife, stupid.” The emperor paused, then shook his head. “Sorry. Force of habit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s alright, I’m used to it,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Is she ill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, never. She just says that she is for attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s...unfortunate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, but at least most people aren’t like her,” Antoninus hesitated, then looked him straight in the eye. No avoidance now. “You aren’t, for a start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh! Thank you,” he smiled, then watched as he walked away. “You as well.” But he was sure that he couldn’t hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Oh well. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>He jerked forward at a distinct slamming sound coming from the room Julia Maesa was in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>He edged a little closer towards the door, pressed his ear against it, but could only make out bits and pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>“He’s not….what the hell are you-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Stunned, he turned around at the sound of the voice - Dio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah. Hello, Dio - and…..Cicero. I didn’t see you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We almost didn’t either,” Cicero hummed, sliding past a servant running down the halls. “Fancy running into you here. What’re you doing outside Maesas office?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-well, I heard a noise coming from inside, and I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Best not to worry then,” he said quickly, gesturing for him to come to his side. “She’s a shifty one. Don’t want you getting yourself in harms way, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” he mumbled as they led him down the hallway. He looked back one more time, but still, something did not sit right with him. “Of course….”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you guys are well ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Mistake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this song is so sexy but it also really does fit this chapter and crowley’s actions (I think) so...here it is! </p><p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Viup7XBIhU4</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Late Fall, Rome, 219 </strong>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus smiled at the commoners as he walked through the city streets, waving occasionally. It was one of his favorite parts of the job, but he’d never admit it. He was supposed to like cutting off enemies' heads. He was supposed to enjoy planning his next scheme. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But he could never see the fun in that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> This morning, he’d been lucky enough to get out before dawn, but when he approached the stables, he remembered everyone was still asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> So he did what anyone else would do - walk out alone. It never tired him, seeing the citizens faces - but it did make him feel uneasy whenever he saw their slaves, toiling behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I’m one to talk, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought bitterly, stopping outside a bathhouse. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve got a palace full of them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> But I never asked for any of it, did I? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> He looked up at the sky, until he was face to face with the sun. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Answer me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The sun didn’t answer. Instead, it blinded him for a moment, and he dropped his head, cursing out of frustration. And possibly pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Doing that again, are we?” Someone called from behind him. He turned, surprised to see none other than Comazon - a praetorian prefect - standing there, his head crowned with a wreath of vines. “I thought you would have given up on El-Gabal by now. I guess not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he said, joining him as he passed by the bathhouse. “No, I still hold my priestly rites. Got to keep it in the family, y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh-huh,” Comazon watched a harem girl for a moment before shaking his head. “Listen, Aurelius-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antoninus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, of course. Antoninus. I think you’ll do great - I’ve heard about that delegation from Armenia. How did that go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It went...fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Comazon sighed, rubbed his temples, and then stopped walking. “What went wrong. Tell me. You know you can trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, alright - I messed up, halfway through the meeting, and I didn’t really know what to say-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So what </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> you say?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just asked if they brought any grapes for wine making, and then I think something got lost in translation, and they got really mad, and then mother told me to go and so I did, and then I had a fight with Paula. Again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Again?!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Well…” he fumbled under his uncomfortable stare before throwing his head back, his eyes fixed on the sun again. “I just don’t think I’ll do as well as everyone says I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean?” Comazon asked, and they were walking again, still smiling and waving as they passed by restaurants and street vendors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I dunno. I guess I just don’t feel...comfortable on the throne.” He watched in horror as the other laughed, then judged his expression and stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you joking or not? I can’t tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, you’ll be alright - people will still like you just the same. Remember when you charged after that soldier during Antioch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It wasn’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <span> soldier,” he said sharply. “It was at least a dozen of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, alright - do you need to sit down for a little while? Maybe the sun is getting to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever,” he hissed. “Just don’t you dare bring that up again.” He saw the terrified glimmer in his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know you are. Hey, there’s a pub just down the street - why don’t we go for a drink, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” he muttered, and let his feet walk behind him until they reached the pubs, until they sat down in a little booth, until he let himself collapse in the oversized chairs. “I guess I’m just tired, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That makes sense,” Comazon assured him, motioning for the barmaid. “Hey, bring us a round, will ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, shu-” she began, but stopped when she saw Antoninus. “Hail Victoria, is that Aurelius Antoninus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The one and only,” he waved a hand, and then offered it to her. “You look lovely, Miss. Would it be any trouble if you could bring us some brew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anything for you, my lord,” she murmured, and then hurried away. Comazon whistled, shaking his head. “You have a way with ‘em. I don’t know how you do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It's not that difficult,” he said, watching as a crowd began to form at the front of the bar. They hadn’t recognized him yet, but they would. Eventually, they all would. Comazon frowned. “What’s your secret?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I dunno. I just compliment them, and they smile, and then they leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So...you’re nice to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not nice,” he spat, quickly flashing a smile as the barmaid returned with a tray filled with mugs. “Miss, do you know if a woman named Merv-Minerva is in? She’s dark skinned, a bit smart-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not till five,” she said, shaking her head. “Should J put a word in for her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, no, just wondering. Thanks, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, of course, my lord.” She watched as he downed one mug, and then another. “My, you really are as quick as they say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She means they say you’re a guy who likes to party,” Comazon yelled over a now buzzing room. “Not far off from the truth, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever,” he said, drinking another. The barmaid walked away, and from the corner of his eye he could see her whispering hurriedly to her coworkers. “I think this was a bad idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, it wasn’t. Just - for </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucks sake, </span>
  </em>
  <span>put down the beer!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stared at him through a now hazy view, setting it down almost gracefully. It spilled. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re still young - you’ll have a hell of a headache tomorrow. Is that what you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he whined, curling up into his chair. Comazon shook his head, taking a slow sip from his own mug. “Then take it easy. You know, last time you went out drinking like this, your grandmother sent word? That was a message I never want to hear again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Maybe we should call her up,” he mused, laying his head down. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that he’d spilled beer there, and swore when he felt the cool liquid roll down his cheek. “Shit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is everything alright back there?” Someone yelled. The two of them glanced up and giggled before a large man appeared, a grimace already on his worn-out (albeit chiseled) face. “You’ve already - hail Victoria, is that you sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus smirked, slowly raising his arm. “That would be me. Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man bowed. “I am so terribly sorry - I-I thought you were just another commoner. We are honored to have you here, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “T-t-thanks,” he grinned awkwardly, and then held out a hand. “Y’know, you’re really...at-at-atra-good looking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man’s face suddenly turned florid, and then bowed again. “I-thank you, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t mention it,” he said, nursing another mug. He watched as he walked away, and then finished it. “We should call for him, s-so he comes back ‘round again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s a stupid idea,” Comazon grumbled. “What were you saying about Paula, again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t think...when did we start talking about her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Comazon hesitated, then shook his head wildly. “I d-I don’t know, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I can tell you about her,” he mumbled, itching his scalp. “She’s...she’s a really big jerk, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “She’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> a jerk,” Comazon repeated. “Alright. Go ahead. Lay it on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This one time, I- I said to her, ‘Hey, wanna...want me to wear a wig and we can...act in this thing I put together?’” He hiccuped, and then continued, not really aware of whether the other was listening to him or not. “Cause I really thought I looked good in it, n’ she said, ‘Oh, no, you’re...you’re a fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>nancy,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> a-and that was the end of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could see him staring straight forward, his lips folded into a frown. He’d said the wrong thing. He was sure of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is...er...is everything alright with you two?” Comazon asked, tapping the table. Antoninus shrugged. “Yeah, but so-sometimes we figh-arg-get mad.” He started to grab the last mug before Comazon grabbed his arm, wrenching it back until he whined. “What wassat for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ve had too much to drink. We both have. Do you want to make a fool of yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He thought about that - didn’t he? What he wanted was to be a stage actor. But that hadn’t worked out, had it? He would be stuck on the throne unless he was able to weasel his way out of it, but that would take effort, and time, and those were two things he didn’t have much of. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>A mistake. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>It would take a series of mistakes, actually, for anything to happen, but it just one could set the ball in motion, get it rolling-</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you listening, Aurelius?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antoninus,” he glowered, a heavy shadow cast onto his high cheekbones from the soft glimmer of the candle. “How many damn times do I have to tell people my name? I’m the fucking emperor of Rome, why do I have to keep repeating myself?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A distinct creaking noise could be detected as everyone in the tavern turned to stare at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, for fucks sake, come on,” Comazon muttered, pulling him out of his chair. “You can’t even drink right.” They stumbled out of the pub, hissing at the brightness of the harsh daylight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where’re we goin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Well. Home for you, maybe. Then your grandmother can deal with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ugh, not again,” he groaned, barely aware of the daggering stares people gave him as they walked down the street. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Victoria, </span>
  </em>
  <span>is it bright-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Here,” Comazon dug into the deep pockets of his tunic, retrieving a pair of tinted glasses. “Put these on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He glanced at them, then slid them on. “Wow- t-that…” he was trying to find the words. “That makes a difference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good,” Comazon laughed, turning another corner. They were close to the palace now, and through the glasses Antoninus could see the walls and part of the front gate. “Just a little more - oh, bloody hell, there’s a guard - they’ll be so mad if they know you’re drunk...Mind if we take the back entrance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Su-fine,” and they continued to walk until Comazon stopped at the corner, at the front of the surrounding forested area, squinting as he looked over the back wall. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hold on - oi, blondie!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a second of silence before the back gate opened, and there stood Aziraphale. In one hand, he held the reins for a horse, the other trying to keep the door shut so it wouldn’t escape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes - oh, my goodness - are you alright, my lord?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus blinked, then raised a hand weakly. “Present...as ever,” he hummed, leaning forward when the hand that had been supporting him let go. “Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look, I have to get going,” Comazon called, already backing away. “He’s your problem now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Asshole,” he grumbled, rubbing his head. “Shit-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Here, why don’t you sit?” Aziraphale asked, but it wasn’t the kind of question you would ask and then wait for a response. He was already guiding him through the back gate, helping him lean against a toppling pine. “How about some water? Would that help?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus nodded. “Yeah..uh...yeah, that’d be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He reminded himself not to say thanks, because the last time he’d thanked a servant both of them had gotten punished. It didn’t make sense to him, why people who did nice things always got in trouble, why others always somehow seemed to get the wrong idea or misunderstand. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>All it was was just a thank you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>But he was the emperor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And emperors don’t say thank you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Five minutes later, Aziraphale returned, carefully taking each step so as not to spill the huge jug he was carrying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now, take slow sips, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm,” he didn’t bother saying anything. He drank for a minute before setting it down, internally very pleased (and grateful, though he wouldn’t admit it) to see that Aziraphale had taken the initiative to sit next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was about to take another drink before a thought struck him, and so he stopped and stared at him very intently, before saying:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Y’know, it isn’t your job to care so much about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale poked at his eyes, then gestured toward him, and he took the glasses off, suddenly very aware that he felt naked without them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want you to look straight into my eyes when I say this, Aurelius Antoninus - it’s my job as a person to care.” He paused, reddening when he didn’t look away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who told you that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My old master, actually,” Aziraphale said sadly, blinking rapidly as if he were - </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, he was</span>
  </em>
  <span> - blinking back tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antoninus didn’t see that then, though, because his heart was beating incredibly fast and he didn’t know why. It had to be all the alcohol. He did drink it incredibly quickly, so that had to be what was happening - it was the only logical explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It had to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is it hot out here, to you?” He asked, leaning his head against the tree. Aziraphale shook his head. “No, not really. Actually, I do think it’s going to get cold very quickly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Really?” He choked, still praying to El-Gabal that it was the alcohol. Aziraphale nodded, and then motioned to his mug. “I’ll bring you back some more, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt very lost, and very much alone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alcohol does that to be people. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Everything that he was feeling was from the beer. This was normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Right? </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for all the feedback guys! ❤️ </p><p>Stay safe</p><p>-D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Child Is Gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>here’s the song for this chapter:</p><p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=7TPMoNwclWs</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Three days had passed since the events of that afternoon. Aziraphale was slightly worried, since he hadn’t seen Antoninus anywhere and the entire palace had fallen quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But why was that boy the way he was? He’d never met anyone like him - it seemed to Aziraphale that all he did was drink and revel - but maybe that was what made him so exhilarating to talk to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He did wish the poor boy could put down his alcohol better, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do hope everything’s all right,” Magnus whispered cursorily as they walked back to their room after work. The others silently agreed, but it was as if they knew something Aziraphale didn’t. Cassia looked around excitedly; then, at Aziraphale:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have you seen him lately? Have you talked to him at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, you spend the most time with him!” Dio pointed out, but the others shut him up. Aziraphale laughed nervously. “No, actually…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When they turned the corner, Livia pulled him aside, grinning devilishly. “You’re in for a treat, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come on, we’ll tell you in there,” Otho quipped, yanking open the door to their room. “Who wants to go first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I do! I do!” Cassia waved her arms wildly, hopping onto the chair by the desk so she was looming over everyone else. Cicero rolled his eyes. “Get off the chair, idiot. You’ll break it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re no fun,” she pouted, hopping off. “Can I tell him, Otho?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, for fucks sake, I’ll do it,” Livia growled, stopping when she saw everyone else’s expressions. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nothing,” Dio and Otho stammered, backing away from the others. Aziraphale smiled - at least someone could put them in their places. Livia nodded in their direction curtly before spinning around to Aziraphale, her eyes glimmering with excitement. “You’ll love this - he’s going to be putting on a play tonight, after dinner!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blinked. “A </span>
  <em>
    <span>play?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah. A play. You know...Hecyra? Truculentus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know what a play is,” Aziraphale said shortly, but then actually began to process what she had said. “Wait a minute. Is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>performing</span>
  </em>
  <span> in this play?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh my-” Aziraphale started, but stopped, shook his head, and then gave up. “Er...when did this come about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think he planned it this morning,” Livia murmured, rubbing her chin. “He puts on plays every so often, but it’s always...interesting, every single time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He planned it this </span>
  <em>
    <span>morning?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Is he crazy?” Aziraphale shook his head again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s what we said too!” Cassia exclaimed, jittering around the room. “Except, I don’t think they’re as….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Enraptured?” Aziraphale suggested. She nodded. “Yep. I think Maesa is a bit tetchy about him performing, and we’re not supposed to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She can’t stop us,” Cicero said proudly. “I think some of us should go and some of us stay back, in case they do an inspection.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s a good idea,” Otho began, but the bell toll rang, indicating it was dinner time. “Oh, blast - we’ll talk about it later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They rushed into the dining room, took their seats, and waited to be served, but Aziraphale just wasn’t hungry. He didn’t know what he was, actually. Surprised? He should have seen this one coming. Confused? Slightly. Excited? Maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Dinner was disgusting, but Aziraphale didn’t mind not eating, so he set aside his plate for one of the many animals that happened to pass through the palace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just can’t believe it,” Cassia whispered. “A play - put on by </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What do you think it’s about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Probably one of his manic sex-fueled hallucinations,” Livia mused, inspecting her own dinner, then everyone else. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re a funny one, Livvie,” Cicero clucked his tongue and poured himself another glass of wine. “No wonder you couldn’t fit in…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The table hushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale watched as Livia threw her napkin at him angrily, but didn’t dare run out of the room, staying just to glower - and maybe that was what impressed him. The fact that she didn’t run. She stood her ground.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Unlike you, Aziraphale,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a tiny voice whispered. He winced, and then shook his head. Nobody else had heard it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> That got him thinking - he hadn’t run, had he? He’d just gotten out when he’d been asked to, that’s all - and that small fact comforted him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What does he mean, ‘Ziraphale?” Cassia asked, poking his shoulder. He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask someone else, dear. I’m just as much in the dark as you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Livia’s mum kicked her out when she was about Cassia’s age,” Otho explained. “Hope you don’t mind, Liv.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She nodded weakly. “No, it’s alright, it would have come out sooner or later anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale leaned across the table and, to everyone’s surprise (including his) he patted her hand. “I’m sorry to hear that, Livia,” he heard himself say. “You don’t have to explain anything. We all understand, I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Everyone else at the table took his cue and began nodding and patting her on the back and </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiling, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which made Aziraphale beam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thanks,” she said softly, still taking every other opportunity to glare at Cicero. “At least </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> people here appreciate me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You misunderstand me, Livia,” Cicero grumbled, staring at his plate. “You always do. I don’t mean to offend you, really-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It doesn’t matter, you still did,” Otho countered. “I hate to take her side, considering how lazy she is in the mornings, but I think she’s right, Cicero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ugh, whatever,” he muttered, finishing his drink. “It’s never worth it anyways.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was about to jump from his chair when Valeria appeared at the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, hello,” she waved her hand, motioning for all of them to follow her. “I’ve been asked to escort you back to your rooms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why’s that?” Dio called, spilling his drink in the process. “Aw, bloody hell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Valeria grit her teeth. “Just come with me, alright? I’ve been asked by our highest lady Julia Maesa, that you all be walked back to your rooms tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sounds secretive,” Cassia murmured as they rose from their chairs. Valeria groaned as Dio sloppily poured himself what may have been his fourth glass. “For fucks sa-” she stopped. “Oh, it’s just you, Dio. Come along, everyone.” They followed her as she dropped off sections of all the other servants and house slaves at their rooms, Aziraphale’s troupe coming last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” Valeria watched as they each walked inside and then followed suit, “You are not to leave the rooms tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why?” Dio, Livia, and Cassia asked all at the same time. Valeria pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Because,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she moaned. “I just can’t tell you, okay? There is a reason. Trust me - and if one of you </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen to know, and if I or </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone else </span>
  </em>
  <span>were to catch you leaving the room - you would be in for a very nasty surprise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So it’d be like dinner and a show?” Aziraphale offered, and the group laughed. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-you know what, I’m off work right now, so I don’t have to explain to you why I’m right. Just know that I warned you,” she stormed out of the room, slamming the door as she left. Cicero opened it up to peer down the hallway, and, when it was safe, shut it and whistled. “That was something, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I bet she’s talking about the play. His last one was...different,” Cassia said quickly. “You remember it, Livia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course I do,” she snapped, but then judged her hurt expression and softened. Aziraphale wondered if Cicero had actually hurt her feelings. “Didn’t mean to get upset. I remember it. The one with the fish guts, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> What?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ooh, yeah!” Cassia said. “Can we go? Please, oh please, Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before he could respond, Dio was already looking out the single window, surveying the lawn and what lay beyond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Let’s escape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?!” Aziraphale stared at him in horror. “But-“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sounds like a plan,” Cicero hummed as he gazed into his reflection from a copper tin. Livia threw her head in her hands miserably, then lifted it back up to scowl at him. “If you’re going, I’m not!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cicero set down the tin, amused. “Ah, you’re still upset about that, Livvie? Fine. Go to your little play - I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t think we should at all,” Otho commented, throwing his head around as he tried to figure out a problem that hadn’t happened yet. “Too risky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Magnus stood up to join him, nodding. “I agree.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Livia looked from them to Cicero, then Dio. “I suppose there’s no point in <em>not</em> going. It’s not like they could harm us anymore than they already have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned - had he heard her right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You could be killed,” Otho pointed out, and Magnus was nodding his head again. Cassia stood up, grabbing onto Livia’s arm. “Eh. That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “B-but that’s ridiculous!” Aziraphale said quickly, jumping up from the floor. Everyone stared at him for a moment before snickering. “What? What did I say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t you think the fact the emperor is putting on a play is ridiculous?” Dio asked, and finally, everyone was nodding in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale realized that hadn’t crossed his mind. Eventually, he, Cassia, Livia, and Dio, all managed to get out of the room unbeknownst to the other servants. It took about four detours and an almost run-in with another head servant for them to stumble upon a tiny corridor, a plate above two elaborately carved doors reading: </span>
  <em>
    <span>auditorii. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “This is it,” Cassia whispered animatedly. “We made it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Just open them already!” Dio hissed, pushing the two doors back to reveal a sprawling, gilded hall. They gasped at the sight - it was illuminated by only a few dozen candles, sitting in clusters on the huge stage.it was an auditorium that only an emperor could have. Aziraphale marveled at the wondrous art on the ceiling; the wistful panels of the sun and the moon and the stars-</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come on, no ones in here!” Livia scream-whispered, pulling them to the floor. They huddled at the foot of the stage, the room so dim that even if someone were to walk in they’d have a hard time finding them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale thought about that - and then learned over to Cassia, who was watching the empty stage with intent. “Do you see his wife?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Huh, that’s funny,” Livia murmured. “Why isn’t she here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s probably busy,” Dio scoffed, but Aziraphale could tell he was consumed by the beauty of the portraits that framed each wall. “Yeah, she might have some...fancy lady function thingy to be at,” Cassia supplied, but a sad part of each of them knew the truth. It was then in that dark hall that Aziraphale realized he still didn’t know what the play was. “Er...Livia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> this play about, exactly?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Knock-off Jupiter,” Dio said, which caused the two girls to laugh. Aziraphale frowned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What does that mean?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He didn’t have any time to mull it over though; they could both hear a short burst of drumming, and then - a pandura? Where was the band?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Though I cannot see my audience,” a smooth voice crooned from the back of the stage. “I know you can see me. This is my show, ladies, gentlemen, and neuters, and I hope you enjoy it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is...is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> playing that?” Dio pointed incredulously. Aziraphale leaned forward and sure enough, there stood the emperor of Rome, now switching his instrument out for an organ. When he was finished, they clapped and he bowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you - and now onto the program!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cassia cheered the loudest as the curtains closed, her eyes alight again. “Aziraphale, did you see him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I did, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wasn’t he marvellous? Grand? Gorgeous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s enough of that,” Dio hissed. “It’s going to start - look!” To their shock, when the curtains drew back to reveal the stage, it also showed Antoninus. Naked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, for - cover your eyes!” Aziraphale hissed, allowing Cassia to bury her head in his shoulder. He groaned as Livia began to snigger and then, just as Antoninus began, Dio cursed and got up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m going. This is gross,” he muttered, and stormed out of the ginormous hall. Aziraphale shook his head, trying to make sure Cassia and Livia weren’t looking, but then...found himself staring instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could feel a quick flash of heat crawl up and down his back, then his neck, until it finally settled onto his cheeks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m practically aflame, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, slightly horrified at the feeling. He wasn’t even paying attention to what Antoninus was saying - and it wasn’t his </span>
  <em>
    <span>anatomy</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was looking at, exactly - but the way he moved along the stage. The way his lithe body drew careful steps and then leaned into action against an enemy that was not there. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>It’s probably nothing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he assured himself, settling into his place on the floor so he could listen. <em>I’m sure all boys would be distracted by...him.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span> The construction of the story itself was rather new. There was no first, second, or third act. It just happened, and at certain points, Antoninus would stop to play some music on the horns or the organ and then give a brief narration of what would happen if the hero were to go a certain route. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now, you may be hoping that our valiant knight Crowley is no match for the Dark Lord, but alas! He may prevail, if that conniving old witch can keep out of it!” This was obviously intended as a joke. Luckily, Aziraphale and Livia laughed enough that he kept going, even when said jokes weren’t particularly funny. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>A nude, one man show may be enough to keep people away from the theatre, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mused, </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I beg to differ. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> All had been going well, until the last few moments, when Crowley the Knight had finally met with the Dark Lord. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I beg of thou, forsaketh thee!” He bellowed, draped in a formidable dark cloak. Aziraphale dipped his head, his mouth open in horror as Antoninus withdrew a sword from the sheet and propelled it forward, collapsing onto the stage floor dramatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And then, a hand, a single, shaking, terrified hand held up a gilded metal sun, the other rising from the sheet to lift it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a second pause, this one longer, indicating that the play had ended.  Aziraphale stood up immediately, clapping his hands eagerly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Slowly, it dawned on him that his own face was now illuminated from the candlelight, and he’d just blown their cover. <br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was about to sit back down when he noticed Antoninus grinning at him, a goofy, sappy grin that told him it was okay. He smiled back, and continued to clap, until he heard someone grunt beneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He glanced down and saw Livia and Cassia glaring at him, but when they peeked over the stage and noticed Antoninus bowing and smiling, they joined in and began clapping, too.  </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So apparently Antoninus/Elagabalus had a history of performing nude in the palace, alone, and he played all the instruments I listed and more!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Not About Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=u09s0uz0tEU<br/>^ chapter song :p </p><p>hope you guys enjoy this one!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> The minute the curtains closed, Antoninus picked up the props, set them to the side, and then ran off to the side to grab a tunic to cover himself. He blew out all the candles minus one, picked it up and then hurried off the stage.</p><p> “Aziraphale!”</p><p> He watched as the blonde turned, whispered something to the other two girls that had come with him - Cassia and Livia - then turned to look at <em> him. </em> He watched as Aziraphale approached him carefully, still smiling. “Hello.”</p><p> “You- erm, why’d you come?”</p><p> “I felt like watching a show,” he noticed how he shone in the light - how he radiated something he wanted. <em> But what is it? </em>“It was so marvelous, I just can’t tell you how...how entertained I was!”</p><p> Antoninus blushed. “Oh, um, well, of course. I mean. Thank you.”</p><p> “Of course, Anthony,” he kept smiling, patted him on the arm, but drew his hand back at the touch, his face suddenly flushing.”Sorry, I just-”</p><p> “No, no, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he rubbed his arm to reassure him but stopped when he flinched. “I like it over all my other names.”</p><p> “You do?” </p><p> “Well. Antoninus does get a bit tired, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p> “I suppose it does,” Aziraphale admitted, and Anthony realized he had to catch his breath, even though he didn’t know why. “Care for a trip to the garden?”</p><p> Aziraphale smiled again. “That would be lovely. Thank you, <em> Anthony.” </em> </p><p> They watched for the guards, and, when the coast was clear, they ran out together, laughing as they broke out of the palace and into the outside realm, their realm, the world that no one else dared touch. It wouldn’t dawn on either of them until much later, but it belonged to them just the same. </p><p> They eventually found themselves lounging under toppling trees and ferns, the moon casting a bright glow on their cheeks, and Anthony couldn’t help but gape in awe at Aziraphale’s heavenly emanation. </p><p> “Say, Anthony?”</p><p> “Hm?”</p><p> “What about your other names?”</p><p> “Well, do you want the long version or the short version?”</p><p> “Is both an option?”</p><p> “How can both be an option, ‘Zira?”</p><p> “I don’t know, I just <em> asked.”  </em></p><p>“Alright, alright. Don’t laugh, you cheeky bastard, okay?” Aziraphale nodded with mock seriousness. “My given name is Varius Avitus Bassianus. But my royal name is Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus.”</p><p> “I don’t see why you can’t have just one name,” Aziraphale reflected, tracing a finger over the lines of the tree he was resting against. “Do you know why?”</p><p> “No,” because he’d never thought about it before. “Um...d’you like being a charioteer?”</p><p> Aziraphale flustered, so he began braiding a couple strands of grass to avoid his eyes. “Well, I..”</p><p> “You can be honest with me. I know I’m your…”</p><p> “Boss?”</p><p> “Yeah, but it’s not like we can’t be friends, right?”</p><p> “Well, we aren’t supposed to be, are we?” </p><p> “Guess not,” he muttered, but then his frown changed into a wicked grin. “Of course, I would have to get to know my charioteer, wouldn’t I? It would be very...unprofessional, if I didn’t trust the man that is meant to drive me everywhere.”</p><p> “I...well, I suppose you do have a point,” Aziraphale said slowly, throwing the grass onto the ground. “Um, what was your question again?” </p><p> “I asked if you like being a charioteer.”</p><p> “Oh! Right. Uh...well, I gather I’m very lucky to have the position, but I doubt if it’s the one I would have chosen if I was...under other circumstances.”</p><p> “You’re still nervous, aren’t you?”</p><p> “Slightly, yes.”</p><p> “You don’t have to be,” he offered as nonchalantly as he could. “I won’t have you killed, I promise.”</p><p> “Well, that makes me more nervous!”</p><p> “Why?”</p><p> “Well...there are absolutely <em> hundreds </em> of other things you could do to me-”</p><p> He leaned forward, his face meditative and achingly solemn because he was aching to know.</p><p><em>  “What </em>other things?” </p><p> “You could hit me, beat me, have me starved or tortured, or you could do all of that and then leave me on the brink of death.”</p><p> Anthony could feel his bite lessen - who did Aziraphale think he was? </p><p> <em> He thinks you’d do your job, </em> someone whispered. <em> He thinks you’d live up to your name. That you would do everything just like them.  </em></p><p>
  <em>  That you’re normal.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  Just like them.  </em>
</p><p>“I wouldn’t actually do any of that, at least, not to you,” he said quietly, and though this seemed to comfort Aziraphale, he was frowning. “Are you sure?”</p><p> “What? Of course I’m sure!”</p><p> “But...what if I don’t do everything perfectly? What if I mess up?”</p><p> “Well...then you’d just try to do a better job the next day!”</p><p> “But shouldn’t I be killed for that?”</p><p> “No!”</p><p> “Why not?”</p><p> “Because I wouldn’t kill you!”</p><p> “But <em> why, </em> Anthony?” </p><p> “Because we’re friends, goddamnit!”</p><p> They both quieted for a few minutes, stewing in the uncomfortable silence, before Aziraphale spoke: </p><p> “Do you ever...take out orders? From the general of the Guard?”</p><p> “Are you questioning my authority?”</p><p> “Well, if asking won’t kill me, then I’ve nothing to lose, right?”</p><p> Anthony bit his lip, and then looked up at him. “No.”</p><p> “Well, then who does it? Do you <em> ever </em> take out any orders?”</p><p> He’d been pushed into a corner - but when he looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, he knew every time that he couldn’t lie. </p><p> “...Alright. I don’t do it. I don’t do much of anything, I guess. I’m sorry I don’t live up to your expectations,” he was angry, but Aziraphale had a point, and he couldn’t deny it. “Usually...usually it’s my grandmother that does it.” </p><p> When Aziraphale accepted his answer, he continued, but he wasn’t looking at him anymore; his view was fixated on the moon. “I didn’t really want to rule in the first place, I guess.”</p><p> “But why did you take the throne at all?” Aziraphale asked incredulously. He threw back his head onto the grass to look at him - his expression was one of awe. “I didn’t.”</p><p> “What do you mean, you didn’t?” When he didn’t respond, Aziraphale knelt beside him, his blue eyes wide and shocked. “Anthony?”</p><p> “It wasn’t my decision, alright? Are you happy?”</p><p> “I-I don’t understand,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’m sorry.”</p><p> “No- it’s...you remember Antioch, right?”</p><p> “Of course I do, although I was a bit young…”</p><p> “Wait. How old are you?”</p><p> “Almost the same age as you, I think.”</p><p> “Oh. I guess...yeah, I guess we were a bit young, weren’t we?”</p><p> “What, were you <em> fighting </em> in it?” </p><p> Anthony gave him a grim look, and when Aziraphales’ turned into one of horror, he decided to get it over with. “Yes. I fought in it. I didn’t want to - it was really my grandmother's wish that I did, so I participated...and here I am.” He waved his arms half-heartedly, as if to lighten the fact that he’d done it. <em> Lessen the pain, </em>he thought glumly. </p><p> “Wait a minute...I’d heard that Macrinus...did he…?”</p><p> “Mhm. Usurped the throne. Grandmother went in, said, ‘Make some trouble’, so I did.” When he lifted up a hand to brush his curls away from his face, it was shaking. Aziraphale noticed, and grabbed it, his face terrified. “I’m sorry for asking, Anthony.”</p><p> “It’s alright,” but they both knew it wasn’t. “I just...don’t like thinking about it, I guess.”</p><p> “I understand,” Aziraphale said, but he knew that he could never, and that made it all the more painful when he said it. Anthony propelled himself forward, dusting off his tunic, and then lowered his hand to him. “I should walk you back. Your roommates will wonder where you’ve been off to.”</p><p> Aziraphale reddened. “Oh, Victoria, I-” when he noticed Anthony wrinkle his nose, he winced. “Sorry. Force of habit - I won’t ever do it again.”</p><p> “No, it’s okay, I guess,” he murmured as they walked through the high grass. “I think people should be free...to do and go and say as they please.”</p><p> “And yet, you have a palace full of slaves,” Aziraphale said as they stopped outside the doors. Anthony lowered his head, and then lifted it to look him in the eye. “You don’t know me, Aziraphale. You don’t know what I’ve done, and what I’ve said-”</p><p> “I know enough about you to know that you don’t want to be here,” Aziraphale said shortly, but Anthony could tell that he didn’t mean any harm. “Am I right?”</p><p> “On the money,” he said, opening up the doors. “I wish women could rule.”</p><p> Aziraphale stopped at the threshold of the large hall, surprised. “What?”</p><p> “Everyone thinks I’m mad. I just think it would be better if my mother ruled instead of me.”</p><p> Aziraphale grinned. “What about your grandmother?”</p><p> He felt the blood leave his face until he was a pale, shaking mess in the body of a man. Aziraphale laid a hand on his arm. “I suppose I hit a nerve. I do apologize, Anthony, I-”</p><p> “Come on, let’s just get you back to your room,” he hissed, grabbing his hand. They walked in hushed silence until stopping at the servants quarters. “I imagine you can make your way back?”</p><p> “Of course,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. Before he left, though, he bowed, still smiling when his head met with his again. “I absolutely loved your show.”</p><p> He turned to leave, and then looked back at him, grateful that he hadn’t walked away yet. “Thanks, Aziraphale. You’re welcome any time.”</p><p> “Thank you,” he said, voice hushed and soft and silky, if that was even possible. “I’ll see you later?”</p><p> “You bet,” and when he turned, he had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, the kind that told him he hoped he could run back there and still catch him, but knew that it was wrong, and knew that truthfully, he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. </p><p> <em> If only someone could explain what the hell is happening to me, </em>he thought, and when he walked back to his room, he thanked El-Gabal that there wasn’t a guard waiting for him. </p><p> He crawled into bed alone, the bed he was meant to share with his wife, shivering even though he was fully covered. <em> When was the last time we slept in the same bed? </em>He couldn’t remember. </p><p> There was a series of knocks on his door, the one that separated his room from Paula’s, and when he didn’t respond, he could hear it opening, and he could hear her footsteps. </p><p> “Antoninus?”</p><p> “What?”</p><p> “Can I have an extra blanket?”</p><p> “Sure. Knock yourself the fuck out. While you’re at it, why don’t you take my bed, too?”</p><p> “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” she snarled, grabbing a sheet from overtop him. “I bet you have a hundred lovers in here while I’m away.”</p><p> He sat up in his bed, angry and mad and wanting to throw something. Not necessarily at her, but something that would make people pay attention. </p><p> “I’ll have you know I’ve been faithful to you, Paula. I’ve never slept with anyone else-”</p><p> “I saw you out there with someone,” she growled, throwing a nearby pot at the wall, coming close to his head. “You lie to me, Antoninus.”</p><p> “He’s a friend,” he snapped, getting out of bed to pace the room. “Why can’t I have friends? Hm?”</p><p> “I don’t trust you,” she said, the words cutting deep inside. It hurt like hell. It hurt more than he’d expected. “Do you trust me?”</p><p> “Why would I, when you just said you don’t?! For fucks sake, Paula, I feel like I’m drowning and you don’t want to throw me a rope!”</p><p> “I can’t, not when I’m busy keeping myself afloat,” and yet he’d never considered that before. That she would be struggling too. “Listen, Paula. You’ve got to listen to me. I-”</p><p> “Yes?”</p><p> He realized that he couldn’t say it.</p><p> “I...I care for you. So, so much. I don’t want you to feel hurt - not when nothing happened, alright? So. Trust me, or don’t, I don’t care, but I didn’t do anything. I’m going to bed, okay?”</p><p> He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t, slamming the door behind her when she left. </p><p> The bed was cold when he got back in it, and when he pulled the only sheet over him, he shivered again, trembling and unaware and uncomfortable, because he realized something terrifying, yet something so liberating he didn’t know how to react:</p><p> He didn’t love her anymore. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sending love and good vibes your way ❤️ 🏳️🌈 ✌️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Largo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8tfU9da_V0<br/>chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Throughout the following weeks, Aziraphale and Anthony met up again. And again. And again. But many times, they were random encounters, ones that weren’t planned, but either one usually found themselves asking if the other would care for a drink, and then they’d find themselves following one another down those long, winding pathways, stopping to recline under the swooping oak trees. </p><p> Aziraphale had been tending to Snapdragon and Tulip - another horse (though this one had a white coat instead of a black one) when he heard a noise behind him. </p><p> When he didn’t turn immediately, he heard a small voice hiss his name, and then a hand tugging on his coat. <em> “Aziraphale,” </em> Magnus pulled on his arm. <em> “Look!”  </em></p><p> “One <em> moment, </em> Magnus,” he snapped. “I- oh, <em> alright-” </em>he turned and saw Anthony standing there, a sly grin on his face. “Oh, it’s just you.”</p><p> “It’s just- he’s the emperor, Aziraphale!” Magnus squeaked. “You have to address him as My lord-”</p><p> “Or my lady,” Anthony added, leaving Magnus to gape and nod his head obediently. “Well, yes, yes of course, my-” he paused, and then stopped. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be mad?”</p><p> “Why would I be mad?” He asked, pushing open the gate. “Hey Snappy. Oh, and of course, you as well, Tulip.”</p><p> “B-because you’re-he’s-but-but you get mad at Otho, and well-you-well-”</p><p> “I think you broke the poor boy, Anthony,” Aziraphale murmured, rubbing a hand through Snapdragon’s mane. Magnus’s mouth dropped even further. “Anthony?! <em> Anthony?” </em> </p><p> “You don’t like it?” He asked viciously, turning around to stare at him. Magnus shook his head ferociously and quietly went back to work. Aziraphale sighed and shook his head. “I’ll never understand you.”</p><p> “Oh, come on, I tell you everything-” </p><p> Aziraphale rolled his eyes.</p><p> “Okay, not everything. But does it have to be explained? I mean, why go to all the trouble?”</p><p> “I suppose you’re right. Some things are...ineffable.”</p><p> “Ineffable?”</p><p> “Well, yes - too great to be explained, to be put into words.”</p><p> “That’s ridiculous. I just don’t feel like delving into my personal life when I have better things I could be doing.”</p><p> “You barely even do anything - you’re always hanging around.” </p><p> “I do not just hang around!”</p><p> “Anthony.”</p><p> “Okay. Maybe a little.”</p><p> “See?” He paused, eyeing him for a moment. “What’s bothering you?”</p><p> “What? Nothings bothering me!”</p><p> “Something’s bothering you, I can tell. We’ve been friends for months now, don’t think I can’t tell.” </p><p> Anthony studied him for a moment before biting his lip. <em> If only I knew what you were thinking, </em> Aziraphale thought, no longer brushing the horse. <em> If only… </em></p><p> “Look, I’d rather not get into it, okay? There’s a lot going on right now,” he hesitated, his face suddenly brightening up. “Oh! Did I tell you that a delegation from India will be joining us next year?”</p><p> “No - oh, Anthony, that’s so exciting! Isn’t that exciting, Magnus?” The boy smiled weakly and nodded before hurrying away. Anthony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Great, just another person I turn away.” He mumbled, shaking his head. </p><p> “He’s just shy,” Aziraphale said sympathetically. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”</p><p> Anthony nodded, appreciative, then stopped to consider something. “Hey, can you drive me down to the other side of the palace? There’s a door that leads out here, so it sort of circles back in case you get bored, but-”</p><p> “Of course,” Aziraphale said, beginning to unlock Snapdragon’s door, then paused. “I’ve only driven you once.”</p><p> “Is that true?” Anthony looked at him, slightly more embarrassed. “I guess I don’t get out much.”</p><p> “I wouldn’t say that,” he mused, opening Tulips door as well. “You go out alone, don’t you?”</p><p> “Well…”</p><p> “Anthony. I know you do. There’s no point in denying it,” he said good naturedly, leading Tulip and Snapdragon out of the stables. “I think it’s rather... interesting.”</p><p> “Interesting? Oh El-Gabal, that’s how you describe books.”</p><p> “What? Books are interesting!”</p><p> “Yeah, well, not the ones you read.”</p><p> “Well, whatever. I think you’re the only emperor I’ve ever seen to take some initiative, and go out and do things on your own.”</p><p> “That’s because my slaves and servants don’t do it the way I want them too,” he said quickly. “I’m actually very bad. And lazy. And I’m not good or nice, either, so-”</p><p> “Oh really?” he asked, attaching the horses to the chariot. “I’m sure that’s most definitely the case,” but he couldn’t suppress his laughter. Anthony scoffed. “It most definitely is! I’m mean, and, and-”</p><p> “And horrible to your guests? When was the last time you hurt something, Anthony?”</p><p> “Er…”</p><p> “I thought so,” he smirked, gesturing to the chariot. “Get in, <em> fiend.” </em> He paused before both of them began laughing. “I’ll throw you into a pit for that,” Anthony said with mock devilishness, then hopped inside. Aziraphale looked inside before taking the front seat, frowning. “What’s that bag for?”</p><p> Anthony poked his head out, his sharp teeth sticking out of his grin. “Clothes.”</p><p> “Clothes?”</p><p> “You know,” he murmured, lifting up a luxurious silk wrap. Aziraphale gasped. “Where did you get that?”</p><p> “My mother ordered it to be delivered from China. Lovely, isn’t it?”</p><p> “What are those for?” Aziraphale gestured at the bottom of the bag, a pair of women’s heels slightly visible. Anthony sighed. </p><p> “Just drive, alright?” </p><p> He nodded, boarded the chariot, and then pulled onto the reins. <em> Remember what he told you, not what he did. Remember what…. </em></p><p>“Aziraphale?”</p><p> “I’m doing it!” He growled, directing Tulip and Snapdragon to the East end of the palace. He had a sickening feeling in the bottom of his stomach. <em> But it’s not my place to ask. </em>He turned the corner, the chariot coming to a halt right outside the East ballroom. “Alright, are you ready?”</p><p> “Yep.” Aziraphale got our first, making sure to tie up Tulip to the post by the doors, turned, and saw Anthony there, a cheeky grin on his face. “What are you on about now?”</p><p> “Just be my lookout, alright?”</p><p> “Your lookout? What does <em> that </em> mean?” </p><p> “Just...make sure nobody comes around,” and he huddled behind the chariot, ducking low enough that he couldn’t see him. </p><p> Aziraphale clucked his tongue, shook his head - but still scanned the surrounding gardens anyways, because he still had to obey him, didn’t he? </p><p> About a minute passed before Anthony called out that he was finished. “What exactly were you- oh…” Aziraphale gasped as he circled around him, “What the bloody hell are you wearing?” </p><p> “You don’t like it?” Aziraphale laid a hand over his mouth, which only made Anthony laugh. “Don’t give me that, Aziraphale! C’mon, I think it looks shocking.”</p><p> “Shocking indeed….Anthony - y-you look like a…”</p><p> “A...?”</p><p> “A <em> prostitute!” </em>he hissed, too afraid that someone would walk by now that he wasn’t watching, afraid that someone would take too much notice of the gaudy makeup and scarves, the gilded, shining necklaces layered over his neck, the way his hair clung you the wind, the way he- “I’m sorry. I don’t want to see you disgrace yourself.”</p><p> Anthony laughed. “Oh, I’ve already done that.”</p><p> He rubbed his temples, then his forehead - <em> what is he doing? Dressed like that, he’s asking for trouble...but...if he’s happy, then why can’t he? If no harm comes to anyone, why can’t he just enjoy himself? </em>Those questions would go unanswered for a long, long time, but he still asked them anyways. </p><p> “Wait by Tulip and Snappy and the chariot, okay? I’ll be back in a little while, and you can probably find a book or something in the back to amuse yourself with,”</p><p> “I thought you didn’t read.”</p><p> “Oh, shut up!” Anthony said hotly, leaving Aziraphale to stand by and wait, smugly grinning at the thought of Anthony reading. When he didn’t find a book in the back, he peered into the huge clerestory windows, searching for a blazing head of hair. “I guess I should stay here and do the right thing,” he said, addressing the two horses. “But I think I’d rather go and find Anthony. What do you think, Tulip? Hm?” </p><p> <em> That does it, </em> he thought, tying up Snapdragon. <em> If he won’t tell me, I’ll figure it out myself. </em>He hurried into the palace, slinking behind a curtain so as he wouldn’t see him (Of course, it wasn’t so much as slinking as it was shuffling.)</p><p> For a few minutes, nothing happened. People walked and lounged, talking and gossiping - many of them friends of friends of Anthony’s family. They had a right to be here - it was their <em> place </em> to be here. To lie about, chatting feverently, only exerting themselves when they wanted another plate of food. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine it. Maybe life was better that way, but he couldn’t see the fun in it. </p><p> Just as he was about to leave, he saw Anthony waltz into the ballroom, now with less layers on and more makeup. He watched as two men nervously approached him, tugging at their togas, their eyes fluttering back and forth. </p><p> <em> How appalling, </em> he thought, shocked, but his body was reacting differently. His cheeks were heating up, and his chest was moving rhythmically, cold, beating, sweating - Anthony was now approaching a different man, a younger man, one about his age, curling a finger around a fiery lock before tossing his head back - this was normal. <em> It’s not jealousy, </em> he assured himself, shuffling away from the curtain to get a better look. <em> Just mindless curiosity.  </em></p><p>They were talking now, laughing loudly, their hands coming inches apart, smiling and whispering - before Anthony dragged him away, out of the room. </p><p> The curtain dropped from his shaking hands. They didn’t drop at his sides anymore, not like they were supposed to, and he didn’t walk out by the horses and wait, like he was supposed to, because now something was driving him forward and quickly, trying to keep up with Anthony and himself. Instinct. </p><p> Later, it would dawn on Aziraphale that no one is truly meant to be a slave. People’s hands do not drop to their sides after they are given a command. People question. People do not obey every command that they are given because of that very reason - the power of questioning and the power of free will and choice. </p><p> That afternoon, Aziraphale made the choice <em> instinctively </em> to run after Anthony. He didn’t know why, but with just one choice, he’d disobeyed all reason that he was <em> meant to believe in </em>and was utilizing the one gift every human was born with. </p><p> <em> Slaves don’t run after their masters, </em> Aziraphale thought as he ran. <em> They run to complete their errands. </em></p><p> He’d almost caught up with them, when he blindly knocked into someone, the both of them falling onto the ground, a loud crashing noise following soon afterwards, </p><p> “What are you doing, ‘Ziraphale? That fucking hurt!” </p><p> Aziraphale opened his eyes and winced. “Ah. Hello, Dio.”</p><p> “Why’re you running around the palace?” The boy asked as he brought himself to his feet. He didn’t offer his hand to help him up. Aziraphale sighed and got up too, dusting off his shabby tunic. “No reason now, I suppose. Where are you off to?” </p><p> Dio gestured to the shattered ceramic littering the floor. “I <em> was </em> carrying these off to the kitchens, but I guess I’ll have to throw them out, thanks to <em> you.” </em> </p><p> Aziraphale glanced around them, Dio’s sagging shoulders now in a slump. “I am so terribly sorry, Dio. It was an accident, of course, but - I can help you, I’m sure.”</p><p> “Yeah? Tell me how you can fix this,” he gestured to the pots and plates, his heavy-lidded eyes low and miserable and drooping. Aziraphale tore himself away for a moment, thinking. “Well, I could always say that I’m responsible - or we could always get new ones.”</p><p> “Where are we gonna get new ones now?” Dio whined as he hastily collected the pottery. Aziraphale grinned. “I have just the place, you’ll see.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p> “You want me to <em> what?” </em>Magnus asked incredulously. “I’ve only got five pots made up, and-and-”</p><p> “That’s fine man, those’ll do,” Dio said quickly. “Can you hand ‘em over like now, though?”</p><p> “Please, Magnus?” </p><p> “They aren’t painted yet.”</p><p> “It doesn’t matter, we <em> need </em> them-” Dio began, but started over when he judged the look Aziraphale gave him. “Er-look, I’m sorry for asking in short notice, but Az- <em> we </em> broke like ten plates, and I don’t want the others in the kitchen to get mad at me.” </p><p> Magnus considered it for a few seconds, then offered his hand. “It’s a deal.”</p><p> Dio grinned. “Brilliant! Thanks Magnus!”</p><p> “On a few conditions.”</p><p> “Aw, what no-”</p><p><em>  “Dio,” </em>Aziraphale chided sternly. “I’m sorry, what were you saying, Magnus?”</p><p> “I want you to stop teasing me, Dio,” Magnus said softly. “For the love of El-Gabal, stop calling me Mute Magnus! I can speak!”</p><p> “Alright,” Dio grumbled. “Anything else?”</p><p> “Well, normally I’d have a list in mind but I didn’t really have one when you barged in here-”</p><p> “We didn’t <em> barge, </em> we just-”</p><p> “Don’t we all live here?” a voice asked from the bed. Everyone turned silently to stare at her, surprised. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?” Dio asked as the lump under the covers rearranged itself, Livia’s head suddenly appearing. “Eh, maybe, but it’s not like they check, right?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked, narrowing his eyes. Livia shrugged. “They just...never check. I mean, what’s the point, really? We don’t get paid. We just work all day, sleep on the floor-”</p><p> “Yes, but you get the bed,” Magnus pointed out. Aziraphale and Dio nodded seriously. Livia rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point. The point is that it doesn’t make any sense, working here, when we could just sleep all day and everything would operate just the same.”</p><p> “She does have a point-” Dio began, but Aziraphale shook his head. “No! Livia, if someone were to find you in here - say Valeria, for instance - she would have you thrown out in an instant!”</p><p> “Couldn’t I make money on the streets, though? Think about it, Aziraphale,” Livia said persuasively. “When you’re a beggar, you have freedom, and you can earn income from the crowds!”</p><p> “You sound ridiculous,” Aziraphale whispered, but he was horrified when he realized that he was nodding along to every word she was saying. “We have a good life here. Anthony treats us very well.”</p><p><em>  “Anthony?” </em> Livia tossed her head back, then paced the room, then again. <em> “Anthony! </em>Are you serious right now?”</p><p> “I don’t see the problem,” he mumbled. “He said he likes being called Anthony. He’s really very kind, and-”</p><p> “Oh, yeah - to <em> you, </em>maybe. And does he let you sit on his throne too? Eat off his plate? Walk with him ‘round the gardens, hm?”</p><p> “I don’t sit on his throne. I don’t eat with him. Those are assumptions and you know that, Livia,” he said quietly. “We’re just friendly with one another-”</p><p> “Ah, but what about everything else?” Dio asked, sliding up next to him, grinning like a cat who's got its prey in the trap.</p><p> “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he suggested, trying to not think about the many late-night trips to the gardens, their haven, where they talked and laughed and tried to pretend that they had stumbled upon one another by accident, that they hadn’t planned it in secret…</p><p> “I assume he treats us all the same. I’m his charioteer, so it’s natural that I spend more time with him,” he said proudly, but he immediately deflated when Livia and Dio shook their heads. “No, see, you spend more time with him out there than <em> anyone. </em> Even his personal servants. His bodyguards.” </p><p> “And he sure as hell doesn’t treat us like he does you,” Dio groused, folding his arms. Magnus nodded from his corner. “Yeah, if you don’t mind me adding, ‘Zira, you two seem to be good friends.”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that,” he said hastily, taking a step backwards, almost knocking Magnus down. “We’re really just acquaintances, actually, you know - work correspondents!</p><p> “Work correspondents,” Livia stonily repeated. Aziraphale nodded. “I cannot believe this,” she muttered, walking towards the desk behind him. “Whatever it is, it isn’t fair. Nobody else in the palace takes long walks with the emperor. Nobody else laughs with him - we aren’t supposed to!”</p><p> “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t or that we can’t! He’s actually very funny, and I like being his...his…” he trailed off, unsure of what he actually was to him now that he thought about it. Did friends spend as much time together as they did? He wouldn’t know. He’d never had a friend before to begin with. </p><p> “His what?” Livia asked, quiet now too, her eyes despondent and detached.</p><p> Aziraphale looked down at the floor, then Dio, and then at her. “I don’t know.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. I Know</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HxMUzv5erBc<br/>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Winter, Rome 219</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span> Around two months passed, and still nothing changed between them. Anthony watched Aziraphale just the same, when he ate, and when they talked, and still, nothing changed, except that something felt slightly off. Something had changed - but it was only in the way Aziraphale eyed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The warmth was gone; now all that was left was a sort of cold, dead-eyed stare that seemed to ask a lot of pressing questions he just didn’t have the answers to.   </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> What did I do wrong? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Now they were sitting cross-legged under their spot in the garden, blooming yarrow and roses enveloping them. Under </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> spot - it was funny saying it, but it was true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “....Hey, can I ask you something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale met his gaze. “Sure,” sitting up a little straighter. “What is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is there a reason why you’ve been acting so funny?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Acting funny? I’m not acting any way at all! T-that’s - What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anthony has grabbed his arm, now leading him down the rugged pathways. “We’re going in, angel” he muttered, pushing past a group of servants who were passing by. Why did he call him </span>
  <em>
    <span>that? </span>
  </em>
  <span> “And you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Luckily, he couldn’t see Aziraphale’s reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stalked inside the library, his hand still gripping Aziraphale’s, yanking him inside behind him. He winced at the mark he’d left, but the blonde didn’t even notice it. Instead, his eyes were whipping around the room, fervent and excited - it was as though he couldn’t restrain himself, walking away from him and towards the lofty shelves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Anthony, it’s so lovely in here - why didn’t you tell me that you had a library?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I...I come in here too, sometimes,” the last part coming out like a whisper. Aziraphale nodded, understanding, before looking at the texts on the shelves, many of them carved in stone. “So I imagine you don’t like admitting it?” He asked politely, a finger gently exploring the rough, hard backs of each book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not really,” he murmured, wishing he was somewhere else all while wanting to be close to Aziraphale. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why? </span>
  </em>
  <span>A voice asked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Uhm, most of these are political texts, actually...so…” Aziraphale’s face twisted into a sad smile. “I see...why don’t we sit down over there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “On the couch? Together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why not? It couldn’t hurt. And...as your charioteer, I know that we’re supposed to get to know each other better.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, you sly bastard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anthony thought wickedly, taking a seat next to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I do wonder if he knows what he’s doing. He must...he-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Antoninus?!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>He straightened, looking out over the pier of the couch but not venturing any further to greet the woman standing at the head of the door. “Yes, grandmother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who in the blazes is this? No - don’t answer that - you! Blonde pansy - who are you, and why are you associating with our lord?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s my chariot driver, grandmother-” Anthony cut in quickly, only to be interrupted by her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Quiet!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I asked him, Antoninus, not you. You are the emperor. You do not answer to anyone, do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She smiled, folding up her hands neatly at the pit of her stomach, a toothy grin on her wrinkled face. “Good. Blonde boy, what’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale, madam-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “What! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You are to refer to me as </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Lady </span>
  </em>
  <span>- I am shocked that you would even demote me to such a level - Antoninus, did you hear that disrespectful-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, indeed,” he muttered, feeling the urge to take Aziraphale’s hand and stare her down. That wouldn’t be right though. It wouldn’t be what was expected of him, so he didn’t do it. Julia Maesa shook her head. “I cannot believe this, Antoninus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> I cannot believe that you are allowing yourself - that you are disgracing yourself by sitting with a slave of all things, and that you would even think of permitting it! What is your name again, slave boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale, my lady,” he answered icily, obviously holding his tongue. This only fueled her fire; she smiled again, coolly because she was all too sure in her ways. Maybe that was a good thing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe, but only for now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anthony thought, as she began another long-winded rant. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Only for now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what’s more, Aziraphale - I could have your head for doing this. Just because Antoninus is unfortunately willing to submit to your debauchery and your wiles, doesn’t mean that the rest of us here are too - I see right through your little plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> You want to tell yourself that you have this all figured out - what do you want, hm? Do you think you can just make off with our money or the empire that I have built for this family? I know your types. You come from….Greece, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, my lady,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Caria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Even worse. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. And your parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They’re dead,” Aziraphale was now sinking into the richly tapestered sofa, his creamy complexion now white in comparison. Julia nodded, but not in the understanding way, not in the compassionate way or the way that makes one feel better; it left the both of them shivering and desperate and sorry and confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I see,” she said, and before she could continue Anthony finally decided to intervene: “Actually, he’d one of the best drivers we’ve ever had, grandmother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh really?” She asked, not interested in the slightest now. “How charming. I had no idea,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sure you didn’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I was just about to send him back to work, but he was just making sure that I was...comfortable, actually, because, I was...erm...feeling a bit sick on the drive back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Drive back from where?” She sounded almost amused, as if she enjoyed playing this game that she would ultimately win. He shared a quick glance with Aziraphale before nervously tapping his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “Er...the...the bath house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s odd...you don’t seem wet at all. Well, I suppose it’s no matter, right, Antoninus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right, yes,” he was now getting up from his sinuous position, invisibly ushering her to the door. “I suppose you have to get going now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yes, the time. So glad to see you of course, but don’t think we won’t be having a chat later, my little Anthony!” She said with mock saccharine indulgence, her eyes darting from him to the sofa wherein Aziraphale had finally given in, fully incapacitated by her sharp poise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When the door shut and he could finally work up the nerve the lock it, they both dared to meet each other’s eyes before sighing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That was a load of shit, wasn’t it?” He asked aloud, trying to lighten the mood. Aziraphale nodded silently - he could see that through his toga his chest was pounding. “Does she scare you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I suppose in a way - you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Eh,” he tried to act nonplussed, but he knew damn well that he was. “Sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I see.” A beat. “Well, I must thank you for sticking up for me, as it were - it was so kind of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kind?” He hissed, and something from deep inside came crawling out, infandously angry - urging him to pull Aziraphale by the shoulders and slam him against the bookshelf. It wouldn’t be enough to hurt him, but it was enough to let him know that he was mad. That he was willing to use force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> In that moment, though, as they stood there, pressed against the bookshelves, their chests moving and rising at the same speed, concurrently; he could hear Aziraphale gasping, probably from surprise more than the actual act itself, and he could feel the heat of his breath against his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could also feel his own inevitable heat; he should have expected it, but he didn’t, and now it was pooling in the bottom of his stomach, and further, until he was burning. He prayed to El-Gabal, to anybody that could hear him - that Aziraphale </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel what he felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Now it was a matter of slowing down, because he knew that if he inched any closer Aziraphale would feel his cock twitching and throbbing and then it would all be over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony imagined him leaving in a huff, saying something like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Well, I never!’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then he would intend to avoid him for as long as he could until they both had to address it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You listen to me,” he rasped, conscientiously aware that he was sweating now. “I’m not kind. I’m mean, very very mean, and you are going to find that out very soon if you don’t do what I say. I’m not nice. I’m definitely not kind. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> have you killed at any moment, and don’t you dare forget that.” When he was done with that little performance, he blinked and then took a step back, though not removing his hands from where they were, still pinning Aziraphale to the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He scanned his soft features for any hint of indignation, desperate calculations so that he could plan his escape, even mere velliety - nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know you don’t mean it,” he croaked, slinking his hand from where he was pinned under his arm, gently tapping his wrist, his fingers. His grip lessened, but his stance was firm, although something was sparking in his stomach again and he realized that he would have to pull away sooner or later for fear of getting caught. “I know it isn’t actually what you mean. And I know you’d never hurt me,” Aziraphale continued. “I know I’m being bold, but I trust you, Anthony - and I know it goes both ways. You may think that you aren’t nice and lovely and kind - but I believe that you are, because you’ve shown that you can be, especially around me, and the flowers, and the horses…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Anthony grit his teeth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m meant to be taken seriously. But that doesn’t mean that you are, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a voice whispered, and he pushed it away. “Who’s to say I won’t slit your throat right now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale squirmed but he’d locked eyes with him now; he would not back down from this. “Fine. Do it, right here, right now.” He paused, letting the command sink in, before continuing, “I presume you’ll be content with asking for help to clean up the blood?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “God, d’you have to be so cheeky?” He was leaning into him again. Better take a step back - but Aziraphale was looking into his eyes, biting his lip, unsure if he should laugh or not - so instead he looked down at the floor, ignoring his gaze. “I can’t do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know you can’t, and that’s why you’re so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sod it, just say it, Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There really isn’t a word for it - I mean...it isn’t exactly nice or kind not killing someone. It's nice and kind to help an elderly man down the street - It’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>right, </span>
  </em>
  <span>unless-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Unless it lends a hand to your moral argument, is it?” He offered, and he nodded nervously. “Well...yes. Is that what you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not exactly. I mean, I don’t exactly have good morals, or good judgement, so why should I care?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what does your God say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What d’you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, your God must say something about killing, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I guess so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s killing but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sacrificing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> there’s a difference!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale made a little noise, and he remembered to release him, to let go, but instead of running away. Aziraphale just stood there, staring at him for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you going to say anything else?” He asked placidly, folding his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony only shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> A few days passed before Anthony finally had the courage to speak to him again. For three days and three nights, all he thought about was that afternoon, the way the heat plummeted in his stomach and rose again, faster and hotter till it scorched his insides; he thought of closing that space that had been between them for so long, and he thought of Aziraphale, stapled to the shelves, his bright blue eyes wide but terrifyingly, not scared of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> For days, Anthony reassured himself that Aziraphale was just strong, and that he was probably expecting a display of brute force, and that he’d been prepared for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> For nights, he dreamt of something equally terrifying: </span>
  <em>
    <span>that maybe, in another world, Aziraphale had enjoyed it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In those dreams, he almost wanted him to, to allow himself to be subjected to his….whatever he was to him. Superior? No - Aziraphale was far more intelligent than he. Boss? That didn’t feel right either. Not even friend could do what he had been feeling those three nights justice. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I must be mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought as he sprinted towards the stables, stopping outside the gate to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come to see me now, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He lifted his head and saw Aziraphale, hand on the gate door. “Ah, hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is everything alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course everything’s alright!” He snapped, trying to pull himself away from his cold stare. “I’m sorry - look, that’s what I came here to do, so...here I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale sighed, opened the gate door, and let him in. “I accept your apology.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh. Um. Th-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thanks won’t be necessary,” Aziraphale muttered, avoiding his eyes too. He couldn’t blame him really. After all, he did push him up against a wall. And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> have funny eyes. “And I assume you’ll want to know why things aren’t the way they were, or why I act the way I do - right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I guess so. Why? I mean, other than...well…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What happened last night?” He supplied, earning a perplexed look from Magnus as he entered the stables. “I mean, honestly, Anthony, it’s nothing. I’m sure you’re very pleased with yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>weighing his options, he decided to throw his hands into the air. It seemed dramatic enough. “Other than...what happened, I don’t know what I did wrong!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You didn’t do anything wrong, that’s not the problem,” Aziraphale snapped, brushing Tulip fervidly. “It’s me: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the problem, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, it’s not alright,” Anthony said sharply, turning Aziraphale to look at him. “Can’t you tell me what’s bothering you? You haven’t done anything, I’m sure…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You wouldn’t understand,” Aziraphale laughed bitterly, but he was smiling and that gave Anthony an ounce of hope. “I have to get back to work. I’ll talk to you later?” Anthony nodded but his brain was swirling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He leaped over the gate and then broke into a trot, grateful that he could finally get some rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When he finally approached his room, the curtains were already parted, Julia Paula standing right by the entrance, her arm slung around a tall, dark haired man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> At first, she appeared shocked; but then it receded, and she dismissed him, then looked to him, waiting for a response. She wanted him to get angry. To yell and ask why she would go behind his back. But he didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well?” She was folding her arms now, tight-lipped, leaning against the wall. Calm and collected. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is there to say? I mean, it happened, didn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “For fucks sake, Anthony, what if that man was some random man who wanted to hurt me? You’re supposed to protect me! Or you could have asked a servant to escort him out of the building!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But he wasn’t,” he pointed out. “The difference is that he wasn’t just some random dude - right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” she mumbled glumly. “But I knew it would happen to me too - and don’t ignore it. I know this doesn’t work between us. I know that you like boys like that. I see the way you study them - you indulge in them, pour over them - I get it. So I know that one day, things’ll be different, and it’ll be you standing here instead of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So you didn’t have any faith in this at all?” He’s passive. All emotion has been swept aside, under the rug to be forgotten about. She shrugged. “I did. At first. You want to know when I lost it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, do tell,” he said sarcastically, shifting a little closer when he noticed a servant run pass them hurriedly. “Right after that blonde boy came here - what’s his name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Aziraphale.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> She nodded. “Right, right. Well...El-Gabal, maybe it had been day two? Anyways, you were looking at him so much it was incredible, but it wasn’t until a few weeks in that I was beginning to give up. All those late night chats you two have that we didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t know you could hear us,” he admits, embarrassed. “No,” she bobs her head. “I watched you from my room - and I remember thinking how sweet you two looked together, and the way you laughed-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’re friends,” he stated flatly. “That’s all. Don’t get any funny ideas, Paula - it’s all we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t -but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I swear, we’re just friends, alright? No need to worry about the relationship. We’re fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A-are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Positive,” but he was far from it. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>writing this scene was basically like watching that scene in the convent 🥵 hope you enjoyed, also please don’t shove people against walls unless it’s consensual or you have to defend yourself by using brute force. (also i’m aware these two need to communicate IT WILL COME I PROMISE)</p><p>thanks for reading my ted talk xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. I Want You To Love Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/N541HLPeG6Y<br/>chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale could make out a figure approaching the stables as he fed Tulip. Then, their voice. “Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He patted Tulips head, then directed his attention to the gate where Livia was standing. “Ah. Hello, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry,” she said, all in a rush. “I know I’m kind of headstrong about all this, and I guess it's kind of ironic, coming from me, since I’m so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lazy?” Otho asked from the back. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, alright, I admit it. But the point is that...I apologize. And that I never meant to judge you for your choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “M-my choice?” Aziraphale furrowed his brow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What on Earth is she on about now?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...</span>
  <em>
    <span>aren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> you dating….him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?! No! Somebody forgive - I would never-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because I really think its the case. You can be honest with me, Aziraphale. I don’t care that you love him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “If, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that's an if, dear, because we are most definitely not together-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So you admit that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> love him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “NO!” He hissed, then threw his head back. “I cannot believe you. This is most childish-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look. I’ve seen you two together. Have you seen them together, Otho?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And weren’t they just the gayest thing you’d ever seen?” Aziraphale gasped, raising a hand to his mouth as though he’d just witnessed a murder. “We are not gay! Stop that, Livia!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I mean, yeah, kind of,” Otho said, shrugging. “You two give off a vibe. If you’re not, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s like a...radar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh,” Aziraphale said stiffly, fiddling with the clasp on his toga; it had Anthony’s name and face on it, next to a large, empowering sun, and it was beginning to distract him. “Well, I’m not-we’re not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, please! Aziraphale, just say it. I can stand here all day, if I have too. You must at least suspect that there’s some tension between you - it’s so obvious! I mean, the both of you….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The both of us what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You both just seem to really like each other. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And I’m assuming there’s something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, it's that you like to suck-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Keep your voice down!” He scream-whispered, then motioned to her to follow him outside the gate. “Alright, come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Isn’t it getting late?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why do you care about what time it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>now?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’ve never been a...stickler before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not that,” she said, coming to a stop by the doors. “I’m worried about you getting in trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just...it’s different when it’s me, Y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I don’t,” he admitted, opening them, breathing in the cool air. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I mean that I wouldn’t care if we got me into trouble. I can shake all that off. I’ve been in cells before. I’ve watched my friends die at the hands of the guards. My…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Your?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Never mind. My point is that I don’t know if that...if that applies to you. You’re...gentle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> You’re saying I’m soft,” he said, smiling as they walked down the dark halls. “It’s alright, I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anyways…I worry. That they’ll be harsher on you. That you won’t be as...as…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Tough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah. Hardened is a better word, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They paused at the entrance of the kitchen, and he waited, judging the look in her eyes, the fear, the pain, and the pity. “I’ll be alright, Livia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” smiling, lying. They strolled inside, and Aziraphale looked at her and then at the room. “I’ve never been in such a large kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Neither have I,” Livia licked her lips, then looked at him, giddy. “Are you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was. Are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think I am,” she poked around the cabinets until she had to stifle a shriek. “What is it? A mouse, perhaps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, no...much better,” slowly, she lifted up a jar. Their eyes widened at the same time. “Honey,” concurrently, they smiled. “Do you suppose the emperor has any grapes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale rubbed his chin. “I do believe he does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> In the end, they grabbed a bottle of wine, a bunchful of grapes, the honey jar, a loaf of bread, and some meat they couldn’t identify, then raced back to their quarters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As Aziraphale opened the wine, Livia rambled about the emperor, but he indulged her because her energy was infectious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have you ever...ever loved someone?” They’d been drinking solidly for God knows how long, and yet her question still caught him off guard, his defense mechanisms down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I...no,” he took a sip, bitterly setting it down just to take another. “No, I haven’t. Have-still don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh,” she ate and then stared at him, her big eyes almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“It’s just….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just that I think I love someone, but it’s not exactly...er..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he assured her, but she shook her head as she bit into a slice of bread. “I want to. Want to share it with someone, it’s just...it’s not exactly allowed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah,” he could feel that pit in his stomach return. “So...is it an age difference? Did something happen to you? Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No! </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> fine,” she began, but stopped. He could see her hold back. “But they aren’t?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you feel comfortable talking about it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” she stretched out, then glanced at him for a few seconds. “We’re only supposed to be friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I understand,” he patted her hand, trying his best to put her at ease. “Go on. It’s alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And then I realized that I liked them more than a friend, and I was really scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because it isn’t allowed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She nodded. There was no need to elaborate, at least not that part, because he understood her completely, even if he didn’t recognize it yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So we got to talking, and S</span>
  <em>
    <span>-they</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt the same way, and we ended up kissing and everything was great until their brother walked in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale cringed. “Ah...and I take it he wasn’t happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Livia nodded. “Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I...I’ve been in a similar boat before, I believe,” he started off slowly, but soon everything fell out in a rush. “At first I was very sure of what I had wanted, but then I began to have doubts, probably out of fear…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She seemed to be interested now, a wicked grin on her face. “And did they feel the same?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh...very much - actually...they...they seemed to reciprocate more so than I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Livia frowned. “So...you didn’t want it, in the end? I’m confused.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I suppose our fear is where the stories...diverge, if you will,” he said all-too quickly. “I had no fears of getting into trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wow, you’re a lot braver than I thought,” she playfully punched him in the arm, not even paying attention to the drained look on his face. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he whispered hoarsely. “I was afraid, very afraid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But you said you weren’t scared of getting caught!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, that’s right,” he bit his lip, wishing it would bleed so it could give him an excuse to leave. “I don’t get it,” Livia wondered for a minute before staring at him for several minutes. “What could you have been afraid of?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s getting late, isn’t it?” He asked, pointing at the window. Livia turned and groaned. “My shift’ll be starting in a few hours. Mind if I turn in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He shrugged. “Be my guest.” He waited as she got into bed and then until she had long since fallen asleep to think. He pushed away the more painful memories and focused on the nicer ones - almost all of them had been with Anthony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Even when he’d been pushed up against the wall...he shivered, thinking about that; it had happened to him before, but this felt different, especially in the way that Anthony had handled himself - he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurting him - it was rough, but sort of gentle, and he hated to think of the possibility of it, but it was sexual, and that was were that underlying tenderness sprung from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He couldn’t ignore it. While they were pressed against one another, he could feel Anthony against him, and Aziraphale </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anthony and could </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was aroused. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>It couldn’t have been from me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he told himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, it had to have been because he likes doing that kind of thing. Throwing people against bookshelves. He probably just…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> Oh, who am I kidding? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>In all the time that he had known Anthony, Aziraphale had noticed several things. The first being that he was extremely sweet. It was incredible he was even an emperor, because he couldn’t harm a fly. The second that he was compassionate, and understanding, and observant, and that he knew Aziraphale too. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>It’s terrifying,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he realized as he stood up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>to think that there is a possibility that….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> He couldn’t even say it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Look at yourself, Aziraphale. Why would he ever….there’s no way you both could! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> But as he walked out the door, the little voice began to diminish, and fantasy took over; he could see them dancing, and them eating at the same table, and comforting one another, and touching….</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He has to. He had to have felt what I felt in the library, he has to feel that now…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> He knew it was crazy, as he turned a corner towards the more stately rooms, down the hallway that would lead to Anthony’s. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>And if he doesn’t, then I can just forget about him. There may not be another master as...as lovely, and handsome, and exciting as he, but I moved on from…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“No need to think about it now,” he whispered, looking down the vacant hallways just in case someone was happening to pass by. He took a tentative step towards Anthony’s door, rapping on the door three times. “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a rustling noise, the sound of padded footsteps - and then some fabric parted, a very dishelved emperor standing at the entryway. Aziraphale tried to contain himself, to hide his blush, but he couldn’t - he was practically melting just from the way his hair looked.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Remember your place, Aziraphale.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry, did I wake you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “N-no, not really,” Anthony said, rubbing his eyes. “Alright. Yes. You woke me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I am sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “S’fine, angel,” he murmured, leaning against the wall. “But you can’t come in. Paula is...well, she’ll hear us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll just...I can leave-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You sure?” He asked, like he didn’t want him to go, which caused a little flourish of excitement where the pit in his stomach used to be, an electrifying jolt running down his spine - and then the dread set in, because he knew something would go wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was too risky, a relationship like theirs. He was the emperor, and he was a slave, and not only that but the both of them were fairly radical - for somebody’s sake, Anthony had made sure women could attend the Sentate meetings and Aziraphale believed in books. Stories. Fantasies. Adventures that would never happen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Romances. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Y-yes, quite, actually,” he croaked, then hurried down the hall. “See you later?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, of course,” Anthony called, and whatever he said next was lost as he ran as fast as he could, just to drown out all of it; the pain, the memories, and most importantly: Him. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this is short and late, I apologize :-) story time, we threw a socially distanced party for my grandmother since her birthday is so close to the fourth and I spent the week preparing for it! To all my American friends, I hope you had a lovely weekend :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The First Taste</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uiuk0z8dzXo<br/>^ this song is so beautiful I had to make it today’s chapter title. It’s one of the best songs of Fiona Apple’s catalogue and the music video (the version I linked) is packed with representation of different couples. (Sorry I’ll stop gushing now!)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Winter, Rome, Early 220</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Anthony paced throughout the halls, running a hand through his now long hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where could they be? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> The delegation from India had not arrived yet, and he was beginning to think that they’d decided to take a rain check. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He heard the door to his grandmother's office open and close, watched as a servant scurried out, returning with an armload of pillows and cushions for seating. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> Wait a minute…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>He ran down the hall, sucked in a heavy breath, then opened the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There sat the delegation, chatting fervently with his grandmother, who sat at the head of the table, and his mother right by her side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now, about the trading, I think-” Julia paused as the room fell silent, her eyes slowly trailing upwards until they stopped at him. “Oh. Antoninus. What a lovely surprise!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, everyone, this is the emperor, my son,” his mother beamed, the men all nodding and smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, so you are not the queen?” One of the men asked, causing her to stiffly shake her head. “Me? Oh, no, gentlemen, I’m just a lady of the household. You must be mistaken. My grandson is quite the little prankster, though, so I’m sure he just has something to his sleeve.” She turned sharply to look at him, as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get out, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he held his ground until anyone said anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, if this is the emperor, I’d love to have a-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A discussion? Of course-” Maesa began, but Anthony was boiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Am I the emperor or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what do you mean by that?” Maesa made a bridge with her fingers, as if on the verge of making a very lucrative business deal, her eyes sinking into him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>challenging</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aren’t I to be meeting with the delegation? Making decisions? Leading our nation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course you are, darling,” Julia said sweetly. “Sit, and you can play politics with us.” The men laughed, but Anthony wrinkled his nose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where was the joke? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Now, Antoninus, I believe you wanted to lead the discussion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er….yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well then, I suppose you’ll be sharp enough to jump in,” the men laughed again. “Let’s begin, gentlemen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They all nodded, one tapping a large stone tablet, murmuring something in a language he didn’t understand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should be like Aziraphale, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought miserably. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He probably knows ten languages from all those books he reads. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“So, Lord, it appears as though your economy took a sharp downturn soon after you were hailed, but there was quite a resurgence in the past few months - how do you suppose that we may do the same?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I..um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, there was also the trading disparity. I do not think it is wise to not involve yourself with it, as many economies that did the same fell very quickly. As of late, I think our deal would be very beneficial to the both of us and may help our trade disputes of recent years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The men paused, and Anthony realized it was his turn on the stage, but he’d forgotten his lines, and this is where it went downhill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-er, well, of course! Of course. It is always possible...in that regard-er-respect, that is, and I…” he stopped as someone coughed, but then went on, not realized he was distracted. “Now, if I...wow, is that a duck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Excuse me?” One of the men asked. He pointed at the man’s birthmark on the side of his cheek; they all looked at him in horror, and then at Anthony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You will have to excuse my grandson, actually,” Maesa said quickly, waving her hands. “He’s ill minded, not well up there, if you understand where I’m coming from,” she glared at him before continuing, and this was his cue to leave. “Leaving so soon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him. He walked out of the back door in the large ballroom, grateful to see that Aziraphale was sitting under their spot, reclining against a tree as he read. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank El-Gabal, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, running through the fields. “Aziraphale!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The blonde looked up, a smile on his face. “Oh, Anthony! Hello!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stopped by the tree to catch his breath, smiling - but his heart was quickly taking over, beating against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hmm..yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why d’you ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You look...well, you look ghastly,” he bit his lip, seeming to regret that he said it. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No it’s...I guess it’s true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They sat down under the tree, and Anthony related the story to him; although he didn’t manage to stay on track, and sometimes Aziraphale had to remind him of where he was. He realized that he liked telling stories, and that Aziraphale was a good listener, not saying much of anything until he’d finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you...well, I suppose I’ve asked this before, but - do you really want to be emperor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he admitted, not even daring to hesitate. His eyes watered, and though he tried to look away, Aziraphale noticed, and patted his hand, which led to rubbing his shoulder and telling him it was alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s the battle,” he whispered. “It’s always there, in the back of my mind, wherever I go, whatever I do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> I think I was sort of thrown into it, you know? I mean, I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t...I didn’t want all of that to happen. Do you know how many bodies I saw?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thousands. And every single one of them is in my mind because they died from an unfair fight. It didn’t make sense to have a war, a battle, whatever it was, just to have me crowned in the end. I mean, they could have gotten someone with double my brains, and double my strength but </span>
  <em>
    <span>no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And...and all those people, the regular people - they didn’t have a choice either! What if none of them want me as emperor? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But then I think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>well, this is the good life</span>
  </em>
  <span> - I shouldn’t be complaining in the first place! I’m the emperor, I have power and all the food I could want and any choice of women...but I don’t want it! And I feel like a fucking jerk because I don’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale considered what he’d said for a long time before laying a hand on his knee. “I know you feel guilty, my dear, but I think you’re very...modest, to not want what almost every person in the world wants, although I must tell you that I believe every person has problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean by that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, take my old master for instance. He had lots of money - he was a nobleman - and he nearly drank himself to death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why would he do a bloody thing like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because he was unhappy,” Aziraphale sighed. “I wish there was an easy answer, but I don’t think there is one. Money does not solve all your problems, and when you are thrust into something, whether it be with good intentions or not, it can often...exacerbate the situation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I didn’t know that,” he said softly, staring at Aziraphale’s hand, which was still on his knee. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You shouldn’t be thanking me,” Aziraphale said, quiet too. “Looks bad on an emperor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right. Right.” He waited, then flashed a coaxing grin his way. “Hey. Why don’t we go get some wine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That would be...rather nice, I think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We couldn’t be seen together, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh. Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You take the back and I go around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You read my mind,” they got up, but before Aziraphale could leave he grabbed his arm instinctively. “Um. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you need anything?” Aziraphale’s gentle features became twisted with worry. “No, no - wait - where are we going to get the wine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...I thought we would just...go into the kitchen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “...You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> a cheeky bastard!” Anthony tried to wipe the grin off his face but couldn’t. “You’re much more sly than I give you credit for…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er...thank you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t worry, angel, it’s a compliment.” He tried to forget that he’d called him angel again, and walked towards the back door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is that you, my lord?” A servant asked as he entered the ballroom. She looked familiar. He nodded. “Yep. What part of this place do you work in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I do all sorts of things - er - where are you going, if I may ask, my lord?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lord, I can bring you food myself. There really is no need to associate yourself with...us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony stopped. “What do you mean by that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I...um….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look,” he said gently, kneeling down to look her straight in the eyes. “I won’t lay a hand on you. No harm will come. I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My...wait. Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yep. And you don’t have to call me </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘My lord’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>all the time. My name is Anthony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh...alright….Anthony? I don’t mean to be rude, but why do you...why are you talking to me again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because you’re nice,” he muttered, pushing past a group of women staring at them. When they approached the kitchen doors, he spun around, putting on the sternest look he could give her. “Now tell me honestly. How many servants work in the kitchens?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uhm...oh, I don’t know - I mean, about twenty or so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony nodded. “Alright. Tell them they have the day off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “What?!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can’t….I mean, of course you can, lord, b-but-” she shook her head, hurried inside, and then moments later the doors opened, all of the men and women running out gleefully. “I can’t believe you just did that,” the girl murmured as she walked out. “You can go in now, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded, but when he looked up he saw Aziraphale there, grinning. He seemed so cheerful and proud, it was enough to make him drip from… </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er-Lord?” The girl was now standing in front of him, blocking his view of Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you want me to tell him to go? I can be really gentle about it, since we’re friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, we live together in the servants and slaves quarters,” she said, proud too, looking back to wave at Aziraphale. Anthony could only gape. “Together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, of course. There’s...well, how many of us are there? Let’s see...me, Azi, Liv, Otho, Magnus, Dio…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “T-that’s like seven people!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, it’s six, but I forgot about Cicero.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A bit rattled, he peered over the girl's shoulder to scan over Aziraphale - he couldn’t believe it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh, excuse me, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Not wanting to wait around for her response, he pulled Aziraphale into the kitchen, and shut the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why didn’t you tell me you live with six other people?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I thought you knew!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Of course you didn’t. What did you think, Anthony? That all slaves are given their own bathrooms? A suite, littered with vases and portraits of themselves? Fashionable clothes, lots of good food?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I told my grandmother to make sure everyone would be well-taken care of. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> everyone was.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> know, obviously-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Damnit, I know you are, Anthony!” Aziraphale rubbed his temples. Soon, they were ready to look at one another again, but they were both in the process of learning the steps to yet another dance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Did you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I- sorry, go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah...how do I put this,” Aziraphale weakly chuckled, folding his hands at the bottom of his stomach like he always did. He was nervous. “Do you...do you think your grandmother had something to do with it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why do you say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because...I feel like I know you well enough that you actually would try to...to help. It just all seems...suspicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I’m sure it’s just my fault again,” he muttered, grabbing a bottle of wine. “I should have talked to the servants. Actually made sure everything was alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And it has been,” Aziraphale assured him, his eyes fixed on him, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>El-Gabal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, there was that scorching hot fire inside again. “It’s been lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “For you, maybe….” he examined the wine, assuming Aziraphale would like it. “Where do you sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I have a straw mat that the girls made-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “What?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“It’s a mat,” Aziraphale repeated slowly, as if he were an idiot. “It’s weaves together to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, I know what a mat is. Why do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> sleep on it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because...I’m a slave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What, there aren’t any beds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>one-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wait. Aren’t there like seven of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “What?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Anthony, it’s fine, really,” Aziraphale was still studying him, but his tone had run sour. “Forget I even said anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How can I forget you said that?” he asked him as they walked out of the kitchen, towards the gardens. “Look, angel, I won’t make a big deal of it, I’ll just say that the slaves and servants who have worked over a day here all get beds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s a big deal for us!” Aziraphale opened the doors to the garden, his eyes wide again - but he was smiling. That was a good sign. “Everyone will wonder what’s been going on, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...I hear things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Haven’t we been over this before?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony dropped himself under a tree, patting the grass behind him for Aziraphale to follow suit. “I have no idea, actually,” he made a little noise as Anthony gave him the bottle. “Oh, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You are such a hedonist,” Anthony mused. Aziraphale took a swig and then handed it back. “I suppose that is a compliment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Shouldn’t thank me. Looks bad on a slave,” he teased, appreciating the little wiggle Aziraphale made as he reclined against the tree. “Alright. What have you heard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That we’re both...gay,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “For each other,” Aziraphale finished, grabbing the bottle to wash out the words as they bathed in the warmth of the afternoon winter sun. “I did of course tell them that it wasn’t true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right. Isn’t true.” Anthony muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They continued to pass the bottle until they were both sorely inebriated and the sun had almost set. Aziraphale had been discussing the one and only friend he’d ever had before coming to the palace, but his words were fairly slurred so it was impossible to know what he was actually saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And...then..I think we were near an albatross - a-are you list-l-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “M’just tired, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do...do you need a nap?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “On my lap?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony laughed. “Nahh….” he tried to stand up, but then thought better of it, collapsing onto Aziraphale’s chest. “Ow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “An-Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have y-ever been w-with a man before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He sat up, realizing with dread that he would have a headache in the morning. “Been with?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know,” Aziraphale whispered, as if what he was about to say was very dirty.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Slept with.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“I-I mean...I’m very much interested in men and women...but I don’t love women th-the same way, y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded very soberly, which was ironic, because he was far from it. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What ‘bout you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve never...I wasn’t with anyone...that loved me like that,” he was running his head now too, and suddenly Anthony had an idea. “So...y-you like men?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. I do, in fact, very-very much, that is, like...yo-men.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He waited for a few minutes, letting the alcohol stew a little bit longer, before he leaned over, staring as well as he could into Aziraphale’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We could test it out on...one another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “W-we...that’s a very good idea,” Aziraphale whispered. Anthony leaned in a little closer. “I th-think I like you a li-bit too much,” And then their faces were touching, closer than they’d ever been. “It’s just...just a test. If y’don’t like it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And then Aziraphale pressed his lips against his. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hehe</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Heavy Balloon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8whTAkkBv6U<br/>^chapter song </p><p>the opening is so lovely! i think it fits this one really well :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Aziraphale was the first to wake up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He blinked, sat up, then lay back down again because he remembered that both he and Anthony had spent the night in the garden, too drunk and too tired to leave - but he secretly wished that they didn’t want to leave one another, that Anthony didn’t want to return back to his room without him, that he wanted him and no one else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He tried to recall what exactly had happened, but everything was blurry. They had gotten a bottle of wine from the kitchen, ending up in their spot under the tree...it had been very lovely, yes-</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And then it hit him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Oh God,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, and Oh God was right, because he’d just realized he’d kissed Anthony, and that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very much extremely likely </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Anthony </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to go back to his room, and that he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stay with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He glanced over at the redhead, blushing at the mere sight of him sleeping - he looked so peaceful, and serene, not tense or royal in the slightest. Just...normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Soon, Anthony began to stir; his eyes opened, but he didn’t say a word, only grinning when he saw Aziraphale lying there beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello,” Aziraphale whispered. Anthony bit his lip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Does he remember what happened too? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Hey, angel,” his brilliant amber eyes were enough to make anyone melt instantly, but luckily Aziraphale had the courage to look away. “Are you hungover too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Only slightly,” he admitted. “I think I handle my alcohol better, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “You? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You were out before I was!” Anthony teased, nudging him. “Are you alright! You look...upset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No...I’m far from it actually,” he began, yearning to run, yet knowing that he couldn’t, not when he felt whatever was going on in his heart. “Anthony, you know-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen, angel, we could leave this place together. They won’t even figure out that I’m gone, and mother could run this place fantastically, I’m sure, and- what’s that look for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you think?! What the bloody hell are you talking about, Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m talking about leaving. With </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“You don’t even know what I think about you! I could...I could be a murderer-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not likely. You would feel guilty for ages and never let it go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I could...I could be a spy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Also not likely. You would have given it up months ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t understand,” he muttered, shaking his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Leave?</span>
  </em>
  <span> With you? Are you mad?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s what people say,” he said, leaning against the tree. “I didn’t think you would be so averse to it, at least not after what happened last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What happened last night?” He knew very well what had happened, but after a few moments everything seemed to blur, and he realized that he didn’t actually know how the night had ended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You said you would love to own a small villa with me,” Anthony began, standing up to pace. “One by the ocean, and we could have all kinds of texts and stories to read, and we could put on plays for people…” he slunk down beside him like a snake, curling an arm around his waist - and then Aziraphale knew he would eventually give in. “You also mentioned lots of wine and lots of love-making,” he hissed, causing Aziraphale to blush bright vermillion. “But I’m sure you don’t remember that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re right, I don’t,” he said, turning away so Anthony wouldn’t see the tears beginning to travel down his face. “I was drunk, Anthony. You know that I would never mean any of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “No,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he choked, standing up to shrug him off. “We can’t- this isn’t right. This...whatever happened, it isn’t right. We…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is it that you don’t want it with me, or not at all?” Anthony asked softly, laying a hand on his shoulder, only causing him to flinch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You have to understand Anthony that this isn’t meant to work. We will have to be friends if we want...if…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony walked around to look him in the eye, but instead lifted a finger to wipe away a single tear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t cry, angel. Alright? Look, I’ll pretend to be your friend and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what? We’ll sleep together on the side? I don’t want to see you getting hurt!” The tears were rolling down much faster now, and he could see Anthony desperately tearing himself away for a moment only to press his cheek against his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want you getting hurt either...so...I’ll do it for you,” and slowly, he dragged a finger along the lines of Aziraphale’s features, his nose, his forehead, his cheeks - lifting up his chin just to plant a single chaste kiss there - making Aziraphale wish he could be born a thousand times over just to feel it again. “I’m sorry, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You...you…” Aziraphale tried to come up with an insult but failed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How dare he make him feel this way?</span>
  </em>
  <span> This burning, brimming new sensation, caused by one single man, only to be stripped away by him in the matter of a morning, robbed of his light and fire, now left a saturated puddle of wax - but it was not Anthony that had done it. It was everyone, it was the way the world was, and he could do nothing but feel this feeling and watch him from the corners of a curtain, to think of him from behind closed doors. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>How dare you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he asked above, glaring at the sky, glaring at whoever was there, watching all this unfold and doing nothing to help. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How dare you do this to me? To Anthony?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “You beautiful bastard,” he whispered, kissing him back, the burning now surging through his body, electrifying them as Anthony pressed him against the tree, desperate to stay there - with him. Finally, they let go, and one look shared between them told him it was over. “It never happened, did it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nope,” Anthony murmured, popping the p. “Never. In fact, I don’t even like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yep,” he said hoarsely, pulling himself away. “We’re not even friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I wouldn’t say that,” Anthony laughed weakly. Aziraphale tried not to smile, but it was infectious, and soon they were both giggling. “You just said you didn’t like me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I’m not supposed to, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But if we’re friends, then we must, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...that does make sense, when you put it that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good. Friends.” Without another word, Anthony hurried away, possibly before either of them could dare to kiss one another, leaving Aziraphale to his own devices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked back to the palace, stopping outside the water pump to wash his face. Really, he was doing it to stifle his hot cheeks, but he couldn’t admit to that now. All he and Anthony were were friends. Good friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he dried his face, he could see a few heads leaning over the side of the wall to get a better look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Livia, I know that’s you,” he said, and one by one the group appeared, each looking rather embarrassed. “You really shouldn’t be so sneaky! It’s very...er...rude. To spy on people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, we’re sorry for checking on you!” She snapped. Otho patted her on the back to comfort her, but not before they saw his confused expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was worried when you didn’t come back to the stables yesterday,” Magnus explained. Dio nodded. “Yeah, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was worried when Cicero didn’t come back last night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, where were you?” Aziraphale asked him. He smiled. “I was going out to get seeds. Cyclamens, actually, but I ended up looking for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> when Cassia stopped me at the gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm, we were all really worried,” Cassia said seriously. “Well, you shouldn’t have worried,” Aziraphale tutted. “I was quite alright.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well where were you?” Otho asked, folding his arms. “You could have left a message with someone. I don’t see why you had to take off like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I...I was actually driving Anthony to a bar. He had a..meeting with someone, and it was very important, a bit of an emergency, actually, and I didn’t get back until quite recently, to be quite...frank with you all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, that makes sense then,” Magnus and Livia both said, and the group all filed out save for Cassia and Otho.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t call him lord?” Otho frowned, narrowing his eyes. Cassia nodded. “Yeah, and why would you drive him to a bar? Maybe I’m stupid, but that doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t there be a guard or something to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sure it was just a slip of the tongue. He likes going by Anthony anyways, so I’m sure it’s nothing to be wary of,” he said all at once, pushing past them before he said anything else slightly incriminating. (Of course, it was much more than slightly. It was entirely, totally incriminating, and he had to be very careful. Except, he wasn’t.) “But I’m still confused-” Cassia continued, following him as he began feeding the horses. “Aziraphale, is something funny going on between you two? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Honestly?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale stared at the wall for a moment, before turning to look at her. Otho was not there; he had probably left the moment he didn’t get the answer he’d been expecting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you want for an answer, hm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean, ‘Zira?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I mean, what do you want to hear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want to hear anything other than the truth,” Cassia said sharply approaching him now, her wide eyes now unflinchingly suspicious. “Please tell me, Aziraphale. I’m almost thirteen. I’m not stupid. I can see that there’s something going on. But you’re hiding something, because nothing is adding up-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is it, then?” He asked, trying to hold his stance. “What isn’t adding up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Everything! You say you take him places all the time, but it’s never that specific. And besides, if there was an emergency, why would you go around telling us slaves about it? That you even took him to a bar in the first place? Doesn’t that reflect badly on the emperor? If you wanted to keep your job, I’m sure you wouldn’t even mention that. But the thing is, Aziraphale, is that I’m sure you don’t have to care about keeping your job, because it’s already set in freaking stone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what do you mean by </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“What do you think?! You don’t have to worry because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>aren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to lose it! Admit it, Aziraphale. The only reason he’s keeping you around is because he likes you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And how did you come to that conclusion?” His voice had run dry. She was right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know you pretty well, I think,” she said, offering a hand. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale bit his lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” he choked it out again, because here he was, saying the words he hated to remind himself of, because they reminded him of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Good friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Because Aziraphale was sure that would be all they could be. Good friends. They would probably never kiss again, nor would they ever find themselves in a bed together; they would not get married, they would not raise a family, and they would never be able to coexist again without knowing it, without remembering themselves of that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He also knew that he could never be angry at Anthony. There was no reason in it, because it was not his fault. And when he began to feel angry at himself, that didn’t work either since he knew it wasn’t his fault either. But he didn’t know who to blame. It was just the way things were, but it was a cruel way to live. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It would be cruel to wake up and have the memory of that night, and to know it would never happen again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought miserably, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is hell. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>  “If we’re good friends, I would’ve hoped you could be honest with me,” Cassia said softly. “But if...if you think you can’t, then...then I’ll leave you to it. It’s probably best that I leave you alone, I suppose, that all of us leave you alone; I know you probably hate us asking about it all the time, about you and him...but you act so funny, Aziraphale, it’s just….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can’t help it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I guess. I-I’m sorry,” she was almost past the gate when he stopped her. “Wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er-come back, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you going to be honest, or are you gonna string me along?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Neither. No - don’t go - </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he pleaded, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I can’t be honest, Cassia. That would put the both of us in danger.” This seemed to catch her attention, so she closed the gate and hurried close to him so that he wouldn’t have to raise it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We have not done anything wrong,” he said, his voice cracking at ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s interesting how that sentence could have potentially hundreds of different meanings, all underlying those six seemingly blatant words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  In their eyes, yes; Aziraphale and Anthony had done nothing wrong. But in the eyes of the public, of Rome, it was, and that was all that they needed aa fuel for an ever growing fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Tip-top,” the words broke again, and he feared that the tears would come back, but those fears quickly subsided when she grabbed his hand, offering him a comforting glance before looking up. “It could rain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” he said sorely, yanking his hand out of hers. “It’s quite cloudy. Shall we go back in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you sure you don’t need…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he said, but he still wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what he needed, and that was enough to put the fear back in him. He let his hand fall into hers and, before he opened the back doors to the palace, he flashed her a quick, strained smile. “I’m fine, Cassia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Those three words were the biggest lie he’d told that afternoon.  </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*UPDATE* </p><p>i am going to have to take a break for a few weeks.<br/>right now my schedule is insane (it’s fair/4-H month, yay lol) and i do not think it would be a good idea to rush out chapters when i know they will not be as good or as well thought out. </p><p> i can’t give an exact date but it will probably be around late July. i go back to school in august but i will probably still update as usual as long as im not failing haha </p><p>thank you for your understanding and patience! i will be back soon &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Valentine/Slow Like Honey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=DtpTc6S01fs (Valentine)</p><p> </p><p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=WoeIeg_JvoA (Slow Like Honey)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Anthony slinked along the corner of the stables, stopping at the gate. Luckily, only Aziraphale was there, only </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But he couldn’t call him that now, could he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey, angel!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Old habits are hard to break. He grinned and opened the gate, grateful that Aziraphale was smiling (although weakly) too. That was a good sign. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello, Anthony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was wondering if you erm….wanted to go to the senate proceedings with me? Today?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ve gotten your grandmother and mother into it as well, I hear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded proudly. “Yep - well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I shouldn’t. I’m not one for politics, and well...</span>
  <em>
    <span>you know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> Yes. That. Of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But the more it lingered in his mind, he knew Aziraphale was right. “I couldn’t get you in unnoticed. There’s no way…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale made a little noise, and began to return to his work, when he grabbed him by the hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How about a play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He watched as Aziraphale lowered his head, then raised it, a blush creeping along his pale cheeks. “Oh, yes, I suppose that will work just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Perfect,” he murmured, wanting to kiss him, but holding back, because that’s what Aziraphale wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Wasn’t it? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>  It took four hours to set the stage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> By the time it was ready, he realized that he wasn’t; there were too many things that could go wrong, but now he couldn’t think of them - Aziraphale was there, smiling and waving and </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Valeria hurried in just before he began, dimming the light by blowing out the stray candles that sat around the large auditorium. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale gave him a thumbs up, and so he took a deep breath, and started:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, so you have all come to see thou give a performance?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The crowd - which consisted of Aziraphale - nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Then - it commences!” He grabbed a barbiton and began to play, but he knew his heart wasn’t in it anymore. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What’s wrong with me? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> As he moved through the lines, he tried to avoid it - but it was like a storm cloud, moving in and out and hanging over him, watching him, expectant with rain and showers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He knew exactly what was wrong with him, and it was that he was so stupidly in love. Why did it have to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why couldn’t it have been a noble girl from a good, noble family who enjoyed all the boring things he hated? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It had to be him. Of course. It just had to be the sweetest, kindest, most decadent boy he’d ever laid eyes on…</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was nearing the third act, right when the maid begins to accept her feelings for the beautiful Princess Fey, when none other than Julia Maesa walked in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Oh God - he would have to skip the romance part, wouldn’t he? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He shared a glance with Aziraphale; he made a gesture as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>go on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Anthony bit his lip, before tentatively continuing:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “...And so they fell in love, blessing each other’s skin with the gifts of touch and kisses as sweet as honey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Quickly, he scanned the room for his grandmother - and sure enough, her lips were pursed, her brows drawn together sternly. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>There’s no reason why I can’t finish strong now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought bravely, and knelt down onto the floor, slowly undoing the clasps of his toga, exposing his bare chest.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sweet, alluring Princess,” he crooned, dusting a rose petal across his cheek. “How fair art thou?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He quickly drew himself upward, the toga barely clinging to his body; his grandmother was horrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Very fair, I say,” he called, grabbing a candle, now forgetting the toga altogether. At this, Maesa ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her. “And that is why...that is why...I…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The candle dropped from his hand - luckily snuffing our the light before anything could catch fire; his legs, his arms, everything shook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could see Aziraphale look around nervously before hurrying up the stage, sitting him down on the cold floor before draping him in his toga. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “M’fine, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t look fine,” Aziraphale said, and it was calculated. He wanted to tell him not to hold back. But how could he, now? “How about some wine, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, sounds good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good...wait, do you have wine on the stage?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. “Yeah, well, it was gonna be for the last act, when Fey and Gaia eat dinner together, after they’ve both admitted everything. Talked it through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It sounds...perfect,” Aziraphale said quietly, handing him a jug. “What about the olives?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony smiled to himself, but dared not show it to Aziraphale. “You eat them, angel. I don’t like them like you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of courssse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> After a few minutes, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You know, I’m glad you’re my friend, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> How could those simple words hurt so much? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Friends.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s what they were now. Just…just friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> After he handed Aziraphale the jug, he stood up slowly. “I have to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Already? I mean...of course, if that’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, so I’ll so you around “</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” Aziraphale said softly. “See you around, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He didn’t want to wait around any longer, because he knew if he did he’d press his lips against Aziraphale’s and all the hell he’d pent up would come running loose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He couldn’t break their word. They were friends, good friends, who could occasionally get drunk together, who didn’t kiss each other because that would go Over The Line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But how much he wanted to cross it, he’d never tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> In a daze, he strolled out of the large hall, into the corridor, and then out of it; his grandmother and mother were both occupying themselves with idle conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aurelius,” his grandmother cooed, waving her stately little wave, demanding him to come forward. When he did, she wrapped her arms around him, coiling, like a snake. “You must be careful,” she sneered, pushing him away. “Are you listening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yes,” no, he wasn’t. “I always listen to you, Grandmother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good, good. Now, what I saw back there will not go...</span>
  <em>
    <span>unnoticed</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you are to keep perpetuating that... behavior. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Indulging</span>
  </em>
  <span> in it, darling, that’s what you’re doing, and I just want you to be aware of what that is...saying. Do you understand me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” he mumbled, leaning against his mother. She turned to him, cupping his face, smiling as she had done when he was a boy. “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I assume your performance was lovely. Oh, mother, was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It was scandalous,” Maesa muttered, laying a hand on her jewels. “What will the people say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er...I’m going to the temple. To pray,” he said quickly. “Thanks mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Now all he could do was hope for an answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Dear El-Gabal...no, that probably isn’t right. Hello, my Lord, above all that is holy, highest king of the highest castle…? Too elaborate,” he groaned and rest his head upon the shrine his family built for the God they had practically created. “I want answers,” perfect. He was begging now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony stood up to admire the lavish room that had been built solely for the purpose of fulfilling his polytheistic ways. Gold tapestries lined the red walls; portraits of him - ones that were now covered up - hung front and center. Vases and rugs, suns and opulent depictions of El-Gabal and him - all of it was part of Maesa’s grand design - to get him into the palace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s worked, hasn’t it?” He asked above, staring at the edge-to-edge plastered ceiling. “I’m here, right now - you’ve got me right where you wanted me, haven’t you, grandmother? Hm? El-Gabal, and all that is holy?” He slammed a vase to the ground, smiling ruefully as it shattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “‘Oh, be careful,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they say - but they don’t care about my life, do they? What’s Aurelius’s life to them? Nothing! If I were a demon, crawling upwards from the depths of hell, they still wouldn’t care, because at the end of the day I’m still me, and that’s bad enough as it is. Bring me, that’s the real kicker here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> You hear that, God? You made a fucking mistake with me. You obviously want me dead or want me on the edge of it, because you made me this way. You made me this repulsive, disgusting being...even I repulse </span>
  <em>
    <span>him...</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> In the bottom of his heart, Anthony knew that Aziraphale had to love him - he had to. They couldn’t deny it, but they would have to pretend until one of them gave in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know how long I can wait,” he murmured, approaching the podium carefully. “But I suppose if I’ve waited this long, been able to pull myself back...it couldn’t hurt, could it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> This was a dangerous game he was playing - because now he was making his move to ignore the love that was running through him like a river’s rapid stream. But they had already made their choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It just wasn’t the one he wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He flipped through a few texts before sliding onto the cool stone floor. “Veritas Nunquam Perit…of course, it had to be you, didn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I always liked that one,” a voice called from the back. Anthony sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared. “Who’re you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Cicero, my lord. Friend of Aziraphale.” Cicero stood from where he’d been sitting and bowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Friend..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I work with him. Sleep in the same quarters, lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can drop the lord act,” he muttered, running a hand against his head to soothe his aching brain. “I may be born of man, but I am much less a lord than many seem to believe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s very poetic-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes - Anthony. Does he call you that, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who? An-Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” he offered him a hand to help him up, which he accepted without qualms. “Him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He does. Why do you ask, though? Not much you can do with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wasn’t planning to do anything,” Cicero was good at keeping calm, he could at least give him props for that. “Listen, Anthony...are you planning on doing anything with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He wondered how much trouble he could get into for throwing another one of those vases at a slave. Probably none, when he got to thinking - after all, he was the emperor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But he already knew the look of disapproval on Aziraphale’s face - the </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointment. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He couldn’t do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What did you have in mind? A romp in the forest? Or better yet, a night in my bedroom while my wife watches? He’s my friend, nothing more.” He sneered, turning back to the podium. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Something like that, yeah,” Cicero said quickly, all too quickly though, because Anthony already had his hands around his robes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen, if you think about laying your grimy hands on him, you go right ahead and wait for me to pull them off. He’s free to do whomever and whatever the fuck he wants to do, but I know one thing. You’re beneath him. You will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> be able to match up to him. You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cicero gave him a half smile, amused, and slowly shrugged him off. “I thought you said you weren’t friends, eh? You don’t have to worry your little pretty head, emperor. I wasn’t going to go after him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony could feel his mouth drop open. “Y-you’re serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s all just a game in the end, isn’t it?” Cicero said quietly, leaning against a pillar. “Now. You really ought to run down and see your boyfriend. He’s been looking down lately. Probably misses you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He doesn’t,” he sat down on a cushion in front of the shrine and stared. “I mean, I don’t think he does, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You haven’t seen the way he talks about you. Or the way he looks when you leave each other’s sides. It’s like you were made for each other,” Cicero paused to allow him a minute to mull it over. “So. Go out and get him, alright? You wouldn’t want a guy like me picking him up, so do it yourself. Blonde hair, blue eyes - that’s a rare find here, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>catch</span>
  </em>
  <span> for you to parade around like-like-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen, Anthony,” the other boy leaned in to stare at him very solemnly. “Around here, that’s all we are outside these walls. I know it sounds awful, but you have got to trust me. If you don’t really love him like that, don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. Just protect him like you normally would from...them. But...I can see that isn’t the case here. I see you two together. A lot of us do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’re just friends, s’all,” he began, but Cicero shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “For now, maybe. But it can change. You just need to talk about your feelings, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, but we know our feelings. We just don’t know all the consequences yet. I mean. We do, but...not the long term ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about those,” Cicero murmured. “We’ve only got one life to live, after all.” Before he left the temple, he stopped at the door. “Take care, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned to say goodbye, but Cicero had already gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You too,” he whispered. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He finally knew what to do - and this time, he wasn’t going back on his word. No, there was no stopping him now, nothing that could steer him off course - unless that thing was standing right in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span> This was not good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale stood outside the large dancing hall, Snapdragon and Tulip by Anthony’s chariot. He’d been standing there since he’d driven himself to the other side of the palace, after he’d been given official orders to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go find the emperor, and bring him back as quickly as you can without anyone noticing, please and thank you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> It had been only a day since Anthony had walked out of the auditorium, leaving him on the deserted stage; since then, Anthony had not been around. It was worrying. But it wasn’t like many people worried enough that they would go out and look for him themselves, so they left that job to Aziraphale - not that he minded, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He’d travel the ends of the Earth just to find him if he had to, and this was no different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Now, he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anthony was inside, hiding away behind a fan, draped in luxurious fabrics...but how to get to him, that was the problem...how to tell him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think I have to tell Anthony that I love him,” Aziraphale said to Tulip, running a hand down her smooth mane. “And that we can’t just...forget it. I know I can’t...oh, but then we’ll be in trouble, I’m sure,” he bit his lip, edging closer towards the door but aching to run. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> I didn’t run then.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> I stood up for myself. I faced him. After was when I got myself out. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> Now I have to stand up to myself and face this. And what comes after…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter what comes after,” he said slowly. “As long as we’re happy now, everything will...work itself out.” He patted down his toga, smiling to himself. Today would be it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You stay here,” he murmured to the horses, and then opened the doors. There Anthony stood, behind the curtain - wearing a mixture of men’s and women’s formal attire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Slowly, Anthony turned. His face was drained from embarrassment and possibly the horror of having to face Aziraphale - but he didn’t care. He would love Anthony no matter what. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look marvelous, my dear-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look, I’m gonna take it off in a second-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I-I wanted to talk to you, Anthony - you know I don’t care how you dress, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> For a moment, he seemed to melt like butter, only before emitting a low, rumbling growl, grabbing him by the arm. “Come on, angel. Let’s have a talk, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony led him through the halls until they reached his bedroom. It then dawned on Aziraphale as they walked in that he hadn’t been in it since his first day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony released him from his grip, watching as he carefully sat on the edge of the bed. He began to unravel the layers of jewels and scarves they had thrown together before dumping it all into a pile on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I like being that way,” Anthony said carefully. “Like...a woman, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But you also want to present as male?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, that too,” he muttered, starting to pace around the room. “I feel more masculine today, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever you were about to say angel will not help us in the slightest right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Anthony, I-”</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Trust me, angel,” Anthony muttered, still pacing, anger erupting from his face. “You don’t know what I want to say to you right now. You might be able to understand, sure, but this- this is killing me. All of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t know what I want to tell you either,” Aziraphale mused. “Did I tell you how lovely you looked, by the way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony laughed bitterly. “Oh, like that matters now. You’ve seen me like this before, haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I thought so. Damnit, fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He almost threw one of his portraits to the ground, but drew his hand back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Dear, I don’t care how you dress,” Aziraphale stood up, trying to reach him, but failed, deciding to sit again because now it was all he could do to keep from holding onto him and never letting go. “I just...want to know what I mean to you. Right now. If you still..I mean, if that is...if you love me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What...what are you..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I saw you leave the hall with a man a while back,” he said, avoiding the redhead's sharp stare. “And while I feel like you love me, I just want to know...want to know how much, if this...if what I’m trying to do and what I want to say is worth it...I feel like I’m babbling, but it doesn’t matter. I do love you Anthony, very much, I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I understand, angel,” Anthony said fiercely, circling around the bed, his eyes sparking with animalistic intensity. “It’s true, angel. It happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale bit his lip, knowing his face was already wet with tears. He watched as Anthony slid in front of him, grasping his shoulders to keep them from shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But I didn’t do anything other than kiss him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blinked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Just...I don’t want you crying over this. I can’t...nothing sexual happened, angel...I don’t want to see my best friend crying, now do I? Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony waited for him to say something else, but all the words became chortled from his sobs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is it, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale thought for a few moments as he rubbed at his face. He knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “All of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Suddenly, Anthony had him pinned to the bed by way of his arms and knees; his desperate, miserable expression filled with want and worry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel, I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy, for me at least, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This makes me happy,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to shake off his growing anticipation. “But I’m so scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony pecked the tip of his nose. “Don’t be. We can figure this out together, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aren’t you, dearest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony tore his eyes away from him; he was close to tears too, Aziraphale could tell. How he wished he could look inside his head, know what he was thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course I am, angel. I’m terrified. But we know this is stupid - trying to...to pretend what we aren’t. I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before he could react, Anthony lowered his head, his teeth tugging at Aziraphale’s bottom lip, his tongue savoring each and every bite. When he stopped, he judged Aziraphale’s smile and, pleased with himself, kissed him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you like me like this angel? Is this what you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale returned the kiss, making sure to pull in and then away just at the right moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I like you period,” he murmured, allowing Anthony to press against him further. “And I want you more than you’ll ever know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Anthony blushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Perfect.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>....I’m back, just like I promised! </p><p>Fair week is still going on, but it will be over by the time Tuesday rolls around, so I thought I should give you guys an update before then! This chapter is a double-update (meaning it’s meant to be two separate chapters but I mucked things up) so I hope it satisfies. </p><p>Things will now definitely be heating up so...yeah. This is gonna be possibly the longest thing I’ve ever written so buckle the hell up because we still have *checks watch* three more years to cover!</p><p> </p><p>(Don’t worry, though. I will spare you all the really boring parts and things are going to be moving much faster now.) </p><p>Alright, that’s it! I hope you enjoyed this very special episode ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Anything We Want</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EfXvIs9bojM</p><p>chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Anthony’s first thought when he woke up the next morning was that he’d dreamed everything that had happened the night before. </p><p> “Dear? Are you awake?”</p><p> But he hadn’t. It had been real, and now he felt like he was floating. He turned on his side, and there was Aziraphale, lying next to him in his bed. </p><p> “Are you?”</p><p> “I don’t sleep much.”</p><p> “Huh. Well,” he said, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his, smiling at the touch and how <em> soft </em> his hands were: “Let’s go announce it.”</p><p> “Anth-are you <em> mad, </em> my boy?”</p><p> “No. I want...I’m ready, angel. I want to tell people. I want to tell my mother. She’ll be happy for us, I’m sure of it-”</p><p> Aziraphale bit his lip. “Is this really alright? I mean, I thought...I thought there was risk, and, and we would get into trouble and-”</p><p> “There is,” Anthony murmured, wrapping Aziraphale’s arm around him. “But...I love you too much to ignore our relationship. I did some thinking, while you went to sleep-”</p><p> “I do <em> not </em> sleep!”</p><p> Anthony grinned. “Yes you do! You’re very peaceful though, it’s quite sweet.”</p><p> Aziraphale beamed. “Thank you, dearest.”</p><p> “And besides - you know that saying. <em> Love Conquers All </em> and all that. Yes, there’s risk and danger, but I don’t want to hold back anymore. I love you, angel, and I want people to know how much.”</p><p> “And if we get into risk and danger?”</p><p> “We can run away together. to the sun!”</p><p> “Anthony, we can’t live on the sun. It’s the sun.” </p><p> “Yeah, but...there’s probably some nightlife up there, right?”</p><p> Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous,” he said softly, getting up from the bed, grabbing a tunic to cover himself. “Are you coming, or would you rather sleep in for another hour?”</p><p> Anthony thought about that for a few moments. ”What would you say if I tempted you back to bed?”</p><p> Aziraphale blushed. “I suppose it would be wrong to be overtaken by your wily ways, but I <em>am</em> rather cold.”</p><p> Anthony smiled, opening his arms. “You’re in luck, angel. I’m rather warm.” <br/><br/></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><br/> Once Anthony had been able to pull himself out of bed he got dressed too, and they left hand in hand; only to bump into Julia Paula on the way out. </p><p> Her eyes darted between Anthony and Aziraphale, jumping from their hands to their eyes. </p><p> <em> Ah, she’s suspicious, </em> Aziraphale thought, clutching onto Anthony’s hand a little tighter. <em> Alright then. If this is how we’re going to play it, fine.  </em></p><p> “What’s going on?” She seethed, pointing at their trembling fingers. “What are you playing at, <em> Anthony?” </em></p><p>“I’ll have you know, Paula, that I’m quite happy with my husband,” Anthony snapped, pushing past her too quickly to judge her expression. Aziraphale gaped at him. “My boy - did you actually mean that?” </p><p> “What do you think, angel? Hm? Are we moving too fast?”</p><p> Aziraphale paused. </p><p> “Are we?”</p><p> “We’ve waited this long, haven’t we?”</p><p> “Anthony…” Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath. “Not really. It’s been six months. That’s nothing. I mean, when you think about it, I barely know you.”</p><p> Anthony let go of his hand.</p><p> “Don’t say that. Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”</p><p> “You know what I mean,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He was tired and this conversation was one he hadn’t been expecting. “And I know it’s crazy but I feel like I’ve known you <em> before </em> and that this has been a long time coming, and-”</p><p> “And <em> exactly. </em> You’re right, angel, that’s how I feel-” Anthony began, reaching for his hand, but Aziraphale was already shooting him down.</p><p> “But that doesn’t mean we need to go so quickly!” </p><p> Anthony faltered.</p><p> “You love me, right?”</p><p> “Of course, dear.”</p><p> “So...what am I doing wrong?”</p><p> “Nothing...nothing at all, it’s…we just started...this, and now I want to savor it,” slowly, he cupped his chin so that they were looking eye to eye. “I’m sorry-”</p><p> “No, it’s my fault,” Anthony mumbled. “M’just not used to all this...affection. I’m sorry, angel. Aziraphale.”</p><p> They kept walking, hand in hand again, but Anthony stopped when his mother and grandmother approached, almost causing Aziraphale to fall down. </p><p> “Ah, Aurelius. Antoninus.<em> Anthony. </em> What...what the devil are you doing with that slave boy?” Maesa said, narrowing her low hooded eyes. </p><p> “Aziraphale, grandmother. We’re in love. I thought I should tell you now, before someone leaked it to the council. Or the public.”</p><p> Julia Soaemias smiled. Julia Maesa gasped. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do, but was happy it had been said.</p><p> It was freeing. </p><p> “I-I can’t believe this,” Maesa choked out, taking a step backward. “With-with <em> him? </em> And what will the media think, hm? Our family image is at stake, Aurelius, and all you can do is go around sucking off some-”</p><p> “That’s enough, mother,” Soaemias shook her head grimly. “It doesn’t matter. You love him, yes?”</p><p> Anthony nodded.</p><p> “Good. Glad to hear it. Do you have anything to say to your grandmother, Antoninus?”</p><p> “Yes, I love him, grandmother,” Anthony said, his eyes shining, glimmering with hope. “I don’t care what you think, or what you say. I want to be free to love who I want.”</p><p> “B-but it will cause an outrage!”</p><p> “Yeah. And I don’t care anymore. We - Aziraphale, that is - talked about it. Why should we care what anyone thinks? Love will win in the end, and you will see it just as you will see Rome burn one hundred times over when your reign ends.”</p><p> “How dare you-” his grandmother began, her hand already in the air, but lowered it at the sight of a group of guests entering the main hall. “We’ll talk about this later. Those are some financial advisors, but I’m sure you don’t care much about them, do you?”</p><p> Aziraphale didn’t want to wait around, so he suddenly jerked Anthony’s arm forwards, leading him down a corridor to get away. </p><p> “Hey, I was about to tell her off!” Anthony teased, but his grin weakened when he saw Aziraphale’s torn expression. “What is it?”</p><p> “I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”</p><p> “Angel. We’ve talked about this. What’s the worst they can do?”</p><p> “Murder us. Both. Horribly, and painfully.”</p><p> “No,” Anthony said, pecking a gentle kiss on the edge of his nose. “They’ll murder us together.”</p><p> “Oh, how romantic,” he said sourly, opening the back doors, grateful for the fresh, calming air. “That’s not really what you want, is it?”</p><p> “No, but I’d end up lying next to you, and that’s the best possible solution I can think of,” Anthony grabbed a grape off a vine and popped it into his mouth. “Ugh, these are <em> so </em> sweet. You want one?”</p><p> “Oh, would you?”</p><p> Anthony smiled. “Mm, anything for my little hedonist,” and dropped one onto his tongue. He winced at the overpowering taste, but appreciated it nonetheless.</p><p> A little while later, they found Valeria stalking through the roses, her dark eyes already displeased as she watched them cling to one another. </p><p> “Val, could you grab us some food? Maybe a story of some kind?” Anthony whined, pricking his finger on a nasty thorn. </p><p> “Yes, my lord,” she said, making a face at Aziraphale’s direction before she hurried away. Anthony frowned.</p><p> “What’s up hers?”</p><p> It took only ten minutes for Valeria to return; she arrived at their spot under the tree ladened with a tray filled with several stories, wine, a loaf of rye bread and olives, cheeses, and unfamiliar meats. </p><p> “There are people watching,” she said harshly, dropping it at their feet. “Get a room.”</p><p> As she walked away, Anthony craned his neck, calling loudly enough so that she could hear him:</p><p> “With that attitude you might as well get a new job!”</p><p> Aziraphale busted out laughing, clutching his sides as he leaned against the startled redhead.</p><p> “What?”</p><p> “You’re funny,” Aziraphale said as soon as he could catch his breath. “I wish I could be like you.”</p><p> “Be like me? Why the heaven would you want to be like <em> me?” </em> </p><p> Aziraphale smiled. “You’re a very good gardener - all your plants look marvelous-”</p><p> “Isn’t my job. That’s for the-”</p><p> “Anthony, I know you garden,” he said shortly, patting his knee: “Now. Let me finish. You’re very handsome, so attractive, and you really do have lovely eyes although I know you hate them. You don’t care what anyone says or thinks or does - not because you rule over Rome but because you have the confidence of someone that does.”</p><p> “But I do, don’t I?” Anthony asked, confused. </p><p> Aziraphale smirked. “Oh, yes, of course - may I ask, what is the current value of the denarii? Or, better yet, what are your latest laws? Hm?”</p><p> “Fine, I don’t really,” Anthony grumbled. “S’not my fault no one listens to what I have to say.”</p><p> “Yes, but dear, you rarely say anything work-related  to anyone around here at all. You just-”</p><p> “Okay, but still. When I do, they don’t listen. So.” Anthony sniffed, although Aziraphale knew he was smiling under his mocked hurt expression. “Anyways. You want to read? I didn’t ask for that book just for it to have beetles eat up the pages.”</p><p> Aziraphale picked up the parchment, studying the title for a moment. “Daphnis and Chloe, hm? I don’t believe I’ve read this before.”</p><p> “You <em> what? </em> My, the little angel hasn’t read this, eh? Here, I’ll read some for you.” Anthony grabbed the papers from his hands before greedily opening it up to a random page, desperate to share this with him - only making Aziraphale’s heart flutter. “Look, angel, you’ll love it… <em> ‘For there was never any yet that wholly could escape love, and never shall there be any, never so long as beauty shall be, never so long as eyes can see.’” </em> </p><p> Aziraphale watched him as he set the parchment down, reaching for his hand. He let his fingers curl into his, rubbing small circles into the deep groves of his palms. </p><p> “You are <em> my </em> Chloe,” Anthony whispered against his ear, slinking his arm around him, his breath hot against his skin. </p><p> Aziraphale shuddered under his touch. “And you my Daphnis?”</p><p> “Yes, angel. Of course. But I would hate for you to go through what Chloe did.”</p><p> His smile suddenly weakened, and he could feel himself begin to writhe against his strong arms. “What do you mean?”</p><p> “I’d hate to spoil it for you, darling,” Anthony hummed, pecking kisses along the edge of his jawline. Aziraphale shook his head. “No, tell me.”</p><p> “Well, Chloe gets taken up by all kinds of men - but she’s alright in the end, I suppose - but Pan has to save her, you know.” </p><p> But Aziraphale didn’t. </p><p> “And Daphnis?”</p><p> “Oh, you wouldn’t like it. It’s tragic. Gloomy.”</p><p> “You don’t know that,” he pouted, pushing himself closer to Anthony. “Why don’t you tell me, dearest?”</p><p> “He was almost raped,” he said, quickly and quietly and all-too-uncomfortably. He stared at Aziraphale for a minute. His nose scrunched up; his eyes narrowed. “‘Ziraphale?”</p><p> “Yes, dear?”</p><p> “You didn’t say anything. Funny, it looked like you were gone for a second there. Like you blacked out.”</p><p> “Oh,” he said, cracking a tight smile. “No, just thinking.”</p><p> “Are you sure everything’s okay?” Anthony asked, poking his cheek. “Please tell me, Aziraphale.”</p><p> “I’m fine,” he stood up to stretch, but his legs were already taking him away from the tree, away from Anthony. “Really. No need to worry.”</p><p> But something was really, very wrong.  </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>as i know fionas lyrics can be confusing, sultryq on songmeanings perfectly summarized the meaning of this song here </p><p>https://songmeanings.com/m/songs/view/3530822107859427478/</p><p>i really do think this song is a great depiction of their relationship, especially at this point in the story.</p><p> edit: while I was going back through some of my older chapters I noticed I called Anthony *Crowley* by accident. Sorry - force of habit!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Cosmonauts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/Htumn1dIgYs</p><p>chapter song ^</p><p>this was my favorite song on the album, but then I listened to For Her and Drumset 200 more times while writing this and now I can’t decide lol :p</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Everyone in the dining room ate silently. Glasses, mugs, and spoons clinked around pewter plates; only their eyes told Aziraphale that they knew about him and Anthony. </p><p> Cassia lowered her spoon for a moment before clearing her throat. A few more went down, everyone else hanging onto what had not been said yet.</p><p> “Aziraphale?”</p><p> He jerked his head upwards, dropping his cup in the process. “Yes?” This time, no one snickered. They dared not laugh - not at him, not now. Things were different now. </p><p> “Are you still our friend?” </p><p> Aziraphale blinked, almost choking on the stew he’d so reluctantly chosen. He hadn’t been expecting it. </p><p> “What- of course, dear!”</p><p> “Is it true?” Livia and Otho asked at the same time, causing him to shake his head, exasperated and wishing he’d gotten some olives and cheese instead. </p><p> The room seemed to still; the other servants and slaves slowly, quietly drank their wines and waters, their eyes fixated on them, darting between him and the portrait on the wall behind him of Anthony, of their Lord. </p><p> “Yes,” he said, and this seemed to cause a sudden tsunami of whispering; how something intended to be so clandestine could grow so infectiously loud was beyond Aziraphale. </p><p> “I knew it. It doesn’t take much to see that you two make a <em> lovely </em> couple, but of course it must be in due part to your debauchery.” Dio garbled as he tipped his soup bowl toward his mouth. </p><p> “What on El-Gabal’s Earth are you suggesting?” He was red in the face, appalled partly by what Dio had said but also partly by the way he was eating. </p><p> “Oh, we don’t really think of you that way!” Magnus assured him, smiling brightly. “You know, I’ve always liked you since you like books so much, and just the other day Cassia was saying how seminal you are about things, and that it’s nice to have someone like that around!”</p><p><em>  “Seminal?” </em>Otho dropped his spoon, picked it up again, his eyes wide while he stared at Cassia in a balanced mix of horror and confusion. “Sorry, I-”</p><p> “Sentimental,” Aziraphale corrected bitterly. “Thank you, everyone. Although I’m not so sure if everyone else will be so kind…” he paused to take a drink from his wine; as he lifted the cup, his eyes met with Cicero’s - causing a shiver to run down his spine. </p><p> They continued to eat in silence until Valeria appeared at the door wearing a sour expression, a guard standing by her side.</p><p> “Aziraphale?”</p><p> He stood from his place and bowed. “Yes, my lady?”</p><p> “You have been requested for meet Emperor Antoninus,” she spoke through grit teeth, probably uncomfortable by the presence of the guard. “Please follow us.”</p><p> He nodded, and not wanting to wait to judge their expressions, he left the others as quickly as he could; but he could hear an audible sigh, and he knew he’d already let one of them down.</p><p> <em> But I can’t not see Anthony, </em> he thought, his heart jumping at the thought of seeing him. <em> I must.  </em></p><p> As they came to a stop outside Anthony’s room, Aziraphale pondered when the guard would leave - but when Valeria hurried away and he didn’t, it dawned on him that he wouldn’t. </p><p> When he walked inside, he could see Anthony huddled against the couch, a jug of brew on the floor and three of his portraits lying near it. </p><p> “Anthony...are you alright?” He asked, kneeling in front of him to cup his pale, angular face. </p><p> “I should be asking the same about you, but to answer your question, I’m fine,” the redhead dunk his head into the crook of his neck and Aziraphale could just <em> taste </em> the beer, smell the flowers he’d tucked into his pillowcase the night before (a habit which did not go unnoticed) hear the sound he made when Aziraphale touched him - the sound that <em> he </em> made Anthony emit - and he could see that he was unhappy. </p><p> “You’d better tell me what’s wrong,” he said, avoiding the topic that he knew Anthony wanted to ask about - the night before. “Hm?” He tapped the spot of skin between his index finger and thumb, grinning when he knew he’d caught his attention.</p><p> Anthony took a deep breath.</p><p> “It’s the guards. You noticed?”</p><p> “Yes. I was going to ask you when they started patrolling your bedroom.”</p><p> “It’s my mother. Every so often she has a fit about my safety then orders a bunch of men to stand around outside, watching me, talking about me, whispering things about me. I feel like I’m cursed, angel. Having you, having all this lovely stuff, having the best wines, men watching over me….but I feel uncomfortable. I feel stuck.”</p><p> Aziraphale nodded, deciding it was better to listen. They both shared the jug of beer before he continued, his golden eyes occasionally veering towards the door nervously.</p><p> “Before you, I was always lonely. Nobody wanted to talk to the weird emperor. I mean, it was supposed to be great. It is supposed to be great, but I don’t think it is. Grandmother doesn’t want me around as much. In fact, she rarely lets me do anything politics wise. I feel like I’m nothing, like there’s no point for my existence.”</p><p> “Oh, but there is,” Aziraphale interrupted, stroking his cheeks, kissing his forehead. “You make me so happy. That’s your purpose, dearest - making this place better.” He smiled when Anthony reddened but almost fell backwards when he kissed him, explosive sparks trickling down his spine. </p><p> “Thank you, angel,” Anthony breathed, his eyes only on him now. “You are so sweet, the kindest little flower I’ve ever known, the most darling-”</p><p> “Dear, you don’t believe that, do you?”</p><p> “Of course I do,” Anthony assured him, pressing his lips against his cheek and then his mouth, his long tongue flicking against his teeth. “How can I ever get you to believe me?”</p><p> “Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale began to say, happily allowing himself to be wrapped up by his arms, but stopped when his mind began to wander. “Anthony?”</p><p> “Hm?”</p><p> “What about your wife? I mean-”</p><p> “Julia Paula?”</p><p> “Yes, yes - where is she? I-I suppose what I should be asking is if she’s alright. Especially after yesterday…”</p><p> “She’ll be fine. Our relationship is already in the rocks. I’ll probably have to remarry soon for the ‘public image’ or whatever.” He made a face before chugging the cup of beer, slamming it onto the ground with a satisfied grin.</p><p> “You know Anthony, I’ll always love you - even if you want to marry those women, even if-”</p><p> “No,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “I only love you in this way; those girls - Paula, for instance - are like sisters. I can’t love them as I do you, I don’t know how.”</p><p> Aziraphale knew his face was red, though he was grateful now that he didn’t have to hide it while he was with him. “I wish we could truly be together - married, you know...but…”</p><p> “But it can’t work,” Anthony finished knowingly, and they sat there glumly for a few moments before he patted Aziraphale’s hand. “Have you eaten?” </p><p> Aziraphale nodded. “Stew.”</p><p> “You don’t like stew. Why would you eat it if you don’t like it?”</p><p> “Because it’s filling,” he pouted, staring at him hard. “I’m not like you, dearest. I’m not an emperor. I don’t get whatever I want.”</p><p> Anthony smiled wolfishly. “Well, my little pet, you’re in luck, as I do happen to be an emperor, and it looks as though a meal in my room has just become available.”</p><p> Aziraphale laughed. “You are so dramatic. Alright, what’ll it be?”</p><p> “Hm...why don’t you stay here and I can make it a surprise?”</p><p> “Oh, why not,” Aziraphale said, settling against a cushion. He waited for only ten minutes or so when Anthony barged back into the room, juggling at least ten different containers and dishes. “Anthony...did you rob the kitchen?”</p><p> “I wouldn’t call it robbing if it’s mine, angel,” he said, setting the plates on top of a small rug by their feet. Aziraphale laughed, though he had made a fair point. “Then what do you call it?”</p><p> “Taking what you deserve,” he said softly, breaking apart a loaf of thick millet bread. “Here. Have some. You might like it.” Before Aziraphale could take it from him, he lifted the bread to his mouth and let him eat from the palms of his hand.</p><p> “D’you like it?” Anthony asked, lowering his hands - he was nervous, and that made Aziraphale smile for some reason. He nodded and took another bite, slowly so that he could savor it. </p><p> “It’s perfect, my boy.”</p><p> “Oh, good,” and Anthony began uncovering the other dishes. There was venison, which Anthony told him was awful and that no amount of sage could save it, (but Aziraphale decided he would try it anyways) pheasant and potatoes, (which was decidedly better than the venison) leeks, asparagus, and cabbage, wine cakes and fruit tarts, and dormice, which had been ladened in thick yellow syrup. Aziraphale stared at each plate in amazement, but frowned at the last one.</p><p> “What’s that?”</p><p> “Oh. You wouldn’t like it.”</p><p> “Alright, but what is it, Anthony?”</p><p> “Okay, you know mice, right?”</p><p> Aziraphale stared at him for a moment. “You’re just speaking in jest, of course, right? Right?” He faltered when he didn’t say anything. “You can’t be serious.”</p><p> “Would you like to try it?”</p><p> “No thank you,” he said in a huff, although he wasn’t sure what would be worse, the venison or the dead mouse lying in a pool of sweet honey. “How’s the venison, then?”</p><p> “Dry. Tastes like an animal.”</p><p> “Anthony. Of course it tastes like an animal. It <em> is </em> one.”</p><p><em>  “Of course it tastes like an animal,” </em>Anthony mocked, though he was grinning ear to ear, both of which had turned red from laughter. “Alright, angel. Let’s see who was right,” and handed him a slice of the meat, his eyes growing wider from anticipation as he took a small, tentative bite. “Well?”</p><p> Aziraphale swallowed. </p><p> “It’s fine.”</p><p> Anthony grinned. “That means I win, then! What do I get?”</p><p> Aziraphale took a sip of wine. “I suppose, my dear boy, that has yet to be decided,” and he set down the cup, and lifted Anthony onto the couch. “Unless you have anything in mind, that is.”</p><p> Anthony grinned, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Oh, I’m sure I can think of something, angel.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hope you enjoyed :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Better Version Of Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/0YGQtWdLj9o</p><p>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Summer, Rome 220</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> In just a few short months, Anthony had decided to stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>putting himself out there </span>
  </em>
  <span>(as his grandmother had put it) around the palace. He still wore dresses, wigs and makeup. He still asked to be called a lady occasionally; the difference was that now he was proud of himself, prouder than he’d ever been before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> No one knew what had happened to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The answer was not what, but who, and that who was Aziraphale. He couldn’t explain it, but something in him changed, and he often found himself trying so hard to please Aziraphale and make him happy that he was terrified someone would tell him he was nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The only problem, though, with being in love, is being married to someone that you aren't. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why can’t you just pretend to enjoy my presence?” Paula yelled after a long day of waving from the confines of their chariot. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span> did you look at me today. What will the people think?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They’ll think that I want to appreciate their hard work, values, and customs,” Anthony snapped, propping his feet onto his desk. “Besides, I thought you’d given up on us a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, but this is different! You are the emperor, and I am the empress. It doesn’t matter what the love life is like indoors, you just have to make it look believable outside of them! Don’t you see, Anthony? They’ll think you’re some...some…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?” He asked, turning in his chair, his golden eyes so cutting, the words coming out like a snake’s hiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know what I mean,” Paula grumbled, sitting on the bed before standing, drifting towards him until she hovered like a cloud. Anthony hopped out of the chair and stood too; now he towered over her. “No, I don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine. They’ll think exactly what you are. A no-good, cheating dirty-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You want to keep going? What else can you call me? A faggot? Is that where you were going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Paula stopped. She lowered her finger, then her head; he’d hit the nail on the head. But it didn’t stifle her anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes. But I was also going to call you a son of a bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to walk away, but he was already yelling after her:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Be careful, or else I’ll divorce you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He sat in his chair again, feeling better that he’d let out some steam, but all of that suddenly deflated when he saw his grandmother walk into the room, shaking her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t believe what I just heard. And I thought you two were so happy...I am terribly sorry, Anthony. But she obviously just wasn’t the one, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can cut the act. He isn’t around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa smirked and flung the papers she’d been carrying onto his desk. “It’s no act, dear, not when I always have to put up with you and your little menagerie. Have you seen what that damned bird did to my dress?” She lifted up her arm; the fabric that was draped around it was torn in several different places. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, was that Dotty? She probably needs a few new toys, I’ll-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t care what it’s name is, I want you to forget about all your stupid animals and your little boyfriends that you tote around. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Read</span>
  </em>
  <span> this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He frowned and picked up the papers she’d thrown at him, and sure enough, they were about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Some of these are just flyers...this one is asking for my head - what did I do?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s the coin,” she snapped, holding up a different flyer now. “It’s lost its value since you took office, and the economy isn’t as strong now. They’re angry now. You’ve got to do something big, something to show you’ve got power...something to make them like you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, but why must I do it all?” He whined, leaning further into the chair. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything about money, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re the emperor!” Maesa shouted, waving her hands frantically. “What else would you be doing? Partying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Honestly, that doesn’t sound so bad right about now,” he began, but stopped when he watched his grandmother’s face burn a deep red. “Or maybe not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He let her yell at him for three minutes, only stopping to listen when she mentioned a name, one he hadn’t heard in a long time - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alexander. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “...and I think it would be perfect if he could just come in here, maybe stay for a while. And who knows? It might work out better than we’d anticipated - he could save our reputation!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Isn’t he like...twelve? I dunno, grandmother. We don’t have a strong relationship. It might be a bad idea bringing him here - I mean, what do we have in common? I haven’t talked to him since-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But his grandmother was shaking her head. “You just don’t know what you’re doing to yourself, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he said carefully, watching her eyes sink and rise as he spoke, watching them get angrier. “I do know. At least, I think I do - and I’m so much happier. For the first time in my life, I feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“You’ll have to remarry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony could see the fire in her dwindle; it was replaced by cold stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know, grandmother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She nodded silently, and left the room before he could say anything more. <br/><br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He decided to go to the council office alone for divorce papers. He wouldn’t have known how to tell Aziraphale, so he didn’t - </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and besides, it would never be romantic enough. It just couldn’t do. He wanted a thousand doves to spell the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Marry Me’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the sky - not ask him to drive to the local council so he could leave his wife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he walked up the steps of the stark, lofty building, he could see people hurry away from him in the corner of his eye. When he walked inside, the men sitting around the panel scoffed and his cheeks flared from the embarrassment. Not one of them looked at him. Not one acknowledged his presence.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Fine. If this is how they want to play, I can oblige them, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, straightening himself to look them each in the eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Ah, Lord Antoninus - if I may ask, where is the guard and your men? Your wife?” The man at the head asked, tipping his dark stare his way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, my lord. This is most unusual,” another said, clucking his tongue as he drew a pen from the bag that he wore. Anthony nodded. “I am aware, men. But I do not come with an unusual plea - I ask that I may divorce my wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man at the head frowned. “It is agreeable, our lord, and may be done, but why? You must have a reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony nodded. “Right, yeah. I wanna marry my husband. So. You know. If you could get on that, it would be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Each man stopped and for the first time, looked up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Y-you don’t actually mean that, d-do you, lord?” A man at the end asked nervously. “T-that can’t be done, it can’t, and you know it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, try and see to it that it does,” he snapped, then bowed. “Good day to you all, gentleman.” Once he left the council, he walked down the street and stopped outside an eyewear shop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He looked behind him, and then entered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman at the counter did not look up for at least a minute; but when she did, she stood back and gasped. “Is that you, my lord? Lord Antoninus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. “Yep. Unfortunately. I mean. Y’know. One and only. Listen, d’you have a pair of dark glasses? For the sun and that kind of thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman nodded very seriously. “Oh, yes, my lord-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony is just fine, madam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman blushed, and busied herself with grabbing a pair of silver rimmed glasses off the top shelf, before handing them to him. “Alright then, Anthony - I do happen to have one pair here - they’re very nice, I can assure you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll take them, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A good choice, Anthony. Would you like them wrapped specially? There’s some fine papyrus I’ve got stored away-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, no, I’ll just wear them out,” he said, smiling crookedly. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman nodded and waved him bye as he left. “Thank you so much, Anthony! Come again soon!” He opened the door, took a deep breath, and walked out; a few men and women recognized him immediately and quickened their pace to get away. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and beautiful - but all was not well. People were avoiding him. People didn’t like him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He just couldn’t figure out why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> His relationship with Aziraphale hadn’t been exposed yet - what had his grandmother said? Something about the coin...</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey, sir?” He waved down a stout, middle aged man carrying a wax tablet and a wooden stick for writing. <br/> <br/> “Ah - you’re the young emperor, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sure,” he said, desperate to get the conversation over with. “Yeah, it’s me. Look, as a member of society, what do you think needs to be done about the economy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, lord. I don’t live here. I’m just visiting my Aunt Sophia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony groaned. “Alright, thank you for your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man’s frowned turned, the ends shaping into a grin. “You know, you have good manners. So many kids these days have-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I understand, sir,” he interrupted, not wanting to hear a speech. “Again, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man squinted, and as Anthony walked away, he followed him. “You know, you ought to be careful, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> At the sound of his name, Anthony turned. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You heard me. It’s a dangerous world out there, sure, but sometimes that danger comes in places you may not expect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man continued walking, but Anthony wasn’t done with him. When the man turned a corner, so did Anthony, but the street was empty, save for an old washer woman. <br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Huh,” Anthony murmured, glancing up at the sky, which had now changed into a deep cerulean, darker than before, the clouds grey and murky. “That’s funny. Always thought this kind of thing means bad luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He held out his hand; a few droplets fell onto it. Soon it would rain, and he should have been home hours ago.  <br/><br/> But the man’s words trickled farther into his brain, settling into the forefront of his mind, leaving him with only a question - <br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span> <em>What did he mean by that? </em></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the late upload! I had no idea WiFi outages were a thing until a couple of days ago 😅</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Ladies (I)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/n46e8m2pOAw</p><p>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “Aziraphale, do you wanna go to the stables with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale glanced up from his copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daphnis and Chloe </span>
  </em>
  <span>to acknowledge the person who was addressing him - it was Magnus, carrying his inkwell. An excited grin was there too, and Aziraphale’s heart cracked knowing he would ruin it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He shook his head sadly. “No thank you, dear. I have to meet with Anthony later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grin melted away faster than Aziraphale had expected; it was replaced with a difficult, mangled kind of anger that he hadn’t ever seen the poor boy exude before. His brows twitched, and his mouth formed a nasty frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, of course you do!” Magnus groused, slamming his free hand against the window and using his other to throw the inkwell across the room, staining the stone floor. “You’re always talking about him. Anthony this, Anthony that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Everyone else in the room ceased talking at once. Their mouths were hanging open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale realized that his own mouth had been hanging agape, so he quickly closed it. “I’m sorry my boy, but I have plans, and I surely can’t cancel them now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, yes, please excuse me,” Magnus snarled, pacing the room, his usually stoic face worn well from his anger. “I forget that we don’t matter to you now!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale tried to reach out to him, to offer a hand, but he flung it away, retreating to his corner. “Just leave me alone,” he said quietly, scooping up the remnants of the now broken pot of ink. “I just thought we were friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before Aziraphale could console him, the three knock code sounded; everyone inside waited in silence until</span>
</p><p>
  <span>the door swung open and Livia strode in, carrying a stack of clean clothes from the laundry hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Oddly, her eyes were void of their habitual enthusiasm. They were wrenched with something, though, and suddenly a feeling of dread dawned in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cassia, who had been sitting by Dio drawing, stood and ran over to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hi, Liv! It’s-” she paused, her words cut off by the unmistakably pained expression on the other girls face. “What’s wrong?” She’d noticed it too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Silently, Livia raised her arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The clothes dropped from her hands, and one by one, everyone looked up, and gasped in collective repugnance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Except Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He knew it all too well to be horrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a deep gash extending from the ends of her elbow to the tip of her wrist; the bleeding had subsided, but when it was fresh it had trickled down into the palm of her hand. Her fingers, clothes, and hair were stained red, but her face was white as the pale moon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho immediately said something about getting a doctor, but Cicero stopped him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Let her explain. It may be dangerous to get one if she’s in trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Dio nodded. “Yeah, let her talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And so they each drew a little closer, all of them unsure if they should be horrified or disgusted or pissed at her state, although Cassia and Aziraphale made an effort to help mitigate the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> No one knew when to start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A small voice from the corner asked softly: “What happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was Magnus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Livia sucked in a breath as Otho tended to the wound before speaking. “A member of the community down in the village...they knew someone in the Vigiles, and they called them down and before I knew it they were threatening to throw me into-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wait a minute,” Cicero snapped, his eyes wide and melting from a mixture of shock and hot anger. “Are you telling me you were out alone? What were you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No! Of course not, I’m not stupid! I was...with someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Dear, if you don’t mind telling us, who were you with?” Aziraphale asked, tearing a scrap of fabric from one of the clothes she had dropped. She nodded, and cleared her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> No one said a word for a minute. It explained enough, but it hadn’t been expected. It shouldn’t have been, anyways, because they knew she’d done nothing wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anyways, they called me disgusting. Called me scum and the like. Said I should be killed right there. They tried,” she almost laughed here, her eyes brimming with tears. “But they didn’t get me. Bastards, but I guess I should be glad that they didn’t get the enjoyment of stabbing me to death, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale wrapped the fabric around her arm as she writhed in tense agony, as she continued to curse the Praetorian Guard, the Vigiles, and El-Gabal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But what about the other girl?” Cassia asked, confused. “What about…” the words died on her tongue as she watched tears stream down Livia’s cheeks. “Oh. Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Liv! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. I’d never-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’s nothing you can do,” Livia hissed, forcing herself onto her feet. “So just leave me the fuck alone. I want to go to bed, and I want sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You mean you want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span> to sl-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Shut up, Otho!” She yelled, collapsing onto the bed. Aziraphale winced as her arm brushed against the rough wool of her tunic. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>That’s it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, suddenly very upset himself. “I’ve had enough. Can you all watch over her? I have to have a talk with someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Tell Anthony we said hi,” Dio muttered from Livia’s bedside. Aziraphale could feel his mouth fall open. “Wha- how did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who else would you go and have a talk to? Besides, you always look happy and pink every time you come back from </span>
  <em>
    <span>having a talk with someone.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, but he always looks happy,” Otho pointed out. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, I am. Hopefully something can be done about this,” and he walked out of the room as quickly as he could to avoid any more questions. He found himself running to the gardens - he never knew where Anthony was exactly; but he always had an idea and that was what led him out the back doors and towards the roses that grew along the long concrete wall that separated the palace from the world beyond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It came out like a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Over here, angel,” he heard Anthony murmur, and there he was, lying in the bed of roses, right where he’d found him all those months ago. “You alright? I’ve never seen you so pale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The cogs in his brain ticked inaudibly. It felt as though he was running through the motions, well-oiled but not without fault; for a second, or maybe a minute, he wasn’t sure, his vision blurred and his mind failed to seperate abstract from reality. His legs had become wobbly and he didn’t know why. He felt as though he were dreaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It had to be a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But what Livia had just told him, why he had ran so quickly, and the branches of a spindly old tree digging into his back told him he wasn’t and that terrified him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “N-no,” he choked out, dropping to his knees. His cheeks were beginning to wet. “It’s Livia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The girl you live with, right?” Anthony asked, sitting up now. “Is she alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The words couldn’t leave his mouth. Not yet. Not now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could only shake his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before he was able to flinch, before he could try and break away, long, lean arms were wrapped around him, consoling him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’ll be alright, angel. Just tell me and we can take care of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He ran his hands under his eyes and nodded, wishing everything would stop, time and all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Miraculously, Anthony seemed to have pulled some strings, because he did not know how long he allowed himself to cry and to be hugged and coddled. It was perfect, until he knew he had to explain what had happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It was a guard, I think - or someone from the Vigiles - she and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Her girlfriend. They...they were hurt. I dont...the other girl, they-” He couldn’t do it. Anthony’s arms were around him again, his hands brushing through locks of blonde hair. “Shh...it’s okay, angel. You don’t have to say it. I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank somebody,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, before clearing his throat. He hadn’t come here to cry. He’d come here to talk to Anthony and he couldn’t even do </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> right without sobs cracking through his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony relaxed his grip around him before continuing, his own voice sounding strained. “I know it sounds awful, but there’s nothing we can do against prejudice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?” Aziraphale shook his hands off him and stood, gentle tears rolling off his face. “Are you mad? Why is it that we can be together and they can’t? We </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do something!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony got up to face him, his voice no longer controlled. It was shaky and unsure. It was so unlike him, that it threw Aziraphale off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen to me, Aziraphale. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> alright for us to be together. That’s the problem. Do you think just because a couple guards haven’t dragged us through the streets yet that it’s alright? It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>far</span>
  </em>
  <span> from alright. Do you think that we can go out together and kiss and touch and look at one another the way we do here? No. No, and that’s why I haven’t gone through with marrying you yet, because I know if I did I wouldn’t just announce it to Mother and Grandmother and the council,” he took a step forward and took his hands in his, his eyes swerving around before settling on Aziraphale. On him. “I would make sure every fucking person in the empire knows it, everyone in every village, man, woman, child. So. If you want me to do something, fine. I will do everything I can to change the way things are, but don’t get upset when our door gets knocked down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It took ten seconds for Aziraphale to realize he was shaking his head. “But...but that’s ridiculous! Don’t you see? People deserve to be happy, right? Why don’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We can be happy, angel,” Anthony whispered, stroking his cheek. “But it’s too dangerous to make it known. I have tried and I have watched and I have listened. If you get hurt because we...if I were to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Go on,” he teased, feeling his tensions ease a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know what I mean!” Anthony said quickly, smoothing out the soft garment he’d slung over his toga. Aziraphale noticed it was emblazoned with the royal crest and a sun pin, the same one he’d received on his first day. Now it didn’t seem to fit him anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I thought this was a good idea,” Anthony said, his voice barely a whisper as he leaned into the crook of his neck, taking in slow, deep breaths. “Now I’m worried, and I don’t even know why. Pathetic, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You aren’t pathetic,” Aziraphale chided, taking him in his arms. “You are far from it, my dear. Yes, it’s dangerous, and I can see it might be difficult to...to make a lot of change, but you can do it, I know you can! Who was it that got women into the senate, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm, and who is it that tends to their gardens and makes sure all the plants in the palace grow beautifully?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They aren’t beautiful, they’re ugly,” Anthony said, muffled from where he’d buried his face into Aziraphale’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled. “I knew you would say that. I also know you hate me saying this, but you are such a-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wicked adversary?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, you imbecile, a good person,” he snapped, but both men found themselves grinning. “So. I’m sure whatever you do, whatever you figure is right for us and for everyone else living here will be the best possible solution.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just hope that Livia is okay,” Anthony said quietly, lifting his head to look him in the eyes again. “I feel awful. I can help in small ways, but that’s about it, and I don’t even feel as though that’s enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, it doesn’t matter what way you help, big or small. Anything can help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t be,” he murmured, cupping his cheek. “You’re trying.” He paused before grasping his hands as Anthony had done just moments ago. “I will stay with you for as long as I can. You know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony nodded. Not a sound escaped from his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I love you, dearest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shuddered as he planted a kiss against his cheek. “I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Unfortunately, we will have to get a new Internet plan.</p><p>So...posting might be a bit spotty. But! I will write in the meantime, and I will try my best to deliver.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Shameika</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/MbkugCPqxQY</p><p>chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> There are several things in this world that could make Anthony pissed. In no particular order, the list included someone interrupting his sleep schedule, pointless work, olives, and homophobes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He had been getting ready for a three day nap when he heard a knock on the wall outside his room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s Valeria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He slowly unfurled himself from the blankets he’d so meticulously wrapped himself in to answer the door. Valeria stepped inside and bowed respectfully, although the look of contempt on her face led him to believe otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry to disturb you, my lord, but there are men on the front steps of the palace who wish to see you immediately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah,” he grabbed his glasses off the table by his bed and shooed her out, suddenly realizing who they were. “Members of the council. Nothing to be worried about, I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “B-but the </span>
  <em>
    <span>council? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lord, if I may-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You may not.” He flashed a devious smile her way before she turned an embarrassed shade of crimson. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, lord,” she mumbled, and bowed again before hurrying away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He continued to smile as he walked down the halls, pleased with himself for having done </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean for once, but it quickly faded once he opened the front doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right. Those it, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The boy in the front - possibly the messenger - handed them to him. “Yes, lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He examined them for a moment before squinting at the small stack that sat in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “All of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course, Antoninus,” an oafish looking man from behind said, his smug grin splayed out across his ugly face. “Why would we deceive the emperor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Dunno. Uh, thanks, everyone,” he muttered, shutting the door before anyone could say anything else to infuriate him. There was something terrifying yet enthralling holding the papers in his hands - and now all he had to do was call for Julia Paula. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>That’s it then, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he told himself nervously as he turned the corner towards his quarters. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just show her the papers and I’m done. For good this time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> He knocked once, forgoing entering by way of his bedroom. He felt that this was more appropriate, anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It opened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh, may I come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She nodded. Solemnly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Does she know? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you want to sit down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, no,” he said, not wanting to wave his hands for fear of speeding up the process. “Look, the reason I came by was...I think we need a divorce. It’s all my fault, really, because I can’t change not loving you and it was me who got you here in the first place. So. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Anthony, you can’t do this! Not now...we’re so close, aren’t we? I mean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know we aren’t,” he said, grasping her hand with his free one. “This was always coming. I mean, maybe I should have prepared you better, but...you don’t have to worry about anything. This can’t work between us. You’ll just get hurt in the end, because I know I can’t be what you want and you aren’t what I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who you want,” she corrected bitterly, pulling her hand out of his. “Do you have anything else to say? That it’s not you, it’s me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. I mean, yeah, I guess that applies here, but I was going to tell you that you’ll find someone better soon. Someone that loves </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Someone better than the emperor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He smiled weakly. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you have the papers?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He waved them in the air before handing them to her. She read them for a moment before looking at him, almost expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He opened his arms, and she accepted them, wrapping hers around his neck. “I’ll be out in three days time,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against bare skin. “No one will notice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can always stay longer,” he said quietly, letting go for just a moment to judge her expression. Immediately he knew her answer. “I’m sorry, Paula.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She planted one last kiss against his jawline before tearing herself away. “It’s okay,” her voice cracking at the end, her eyes filling up with new tears. “I knew you wouldn’t care for me for long.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He left Paula that night, alone in her room. It probably wasn’t the best decision, but his options were limited and he knew neither of them could bear sitting next to each other for very long without getting agitated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> So he found himself standing outside Aziraphale’s bedroom, his hand hovering before the old door. Knocking would wake everyone. He realized with dread that the other option involved him hoping and praying that Aziraphale was awake. And praying had never done him any good, had it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale?” He whispered, and then gasped when the door suddenly opened, Aziraphale standing there in his shabby tunica, a lacerna hanging off his broad shoulders awkwardly. “You’re awake?” He asked, reminding himself to take him shopping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t sleep very well, to be honest,” Aziraphale said quietly. Anthony was sure that, through the dim light, he was frowning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er- I wasn’t sure if you could have read my handwriting, if I slid it under the door,” he watched as Aziraphale quickly turned at the sound of someone from inside stirring. “Is everything alright? How’s Livia doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Her arm is much better. Healing nicely - but she’s been considering leaving, I’m afraid. Too much stress, living here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But where else could she find work? She’s young, and someone could-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale stopped him. “Dear, she can’t stay here. If she can make it out of Rome then I’m sure she can make it on her own somewhere else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But in the meantime?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale’s lips twisted into an uncertain, grief-ridden grimace. “In the meantime, she’ll be resting. Here.” It may be silly to call it greif, because nothing yet had physically been lost; but something greater had been taken. Anthony could see it spread across his face, pain and anger and frustration etched deep behind worry lines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> In that moment, he was sure it was Livia. She was the one leaving. She was the one who had been struck down, the one who had been writhing around in the bed from pain. But later he began to suspect that he had been wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Yes, something had been taken - taken from Aziraphale, that is - but it wasn’t a person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was something intangible. Something that could never be gained or returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony looked over Aziraphale’s shoulder, and saw Livia tossing and turning, then sitting up to stretch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “May I see her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale glanced behind him, and then stepped aside. They couldn’t see very well, the only light coming from a single window above the bed, the moonlight casting a fresh glow on Livia’s tired face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You awake, Livia?” He whispered, approaching her bedside. She rubbed her eyes and yawned before nodding wearily. “Yes, m’lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” he corrected, and she nodded again. “Er- how do you feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She laughed softly before displaying her arm. “They cut me, how d’you think I’m doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is there a reason why you’re here? I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you have...like...somewhere else to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “At this hour? Nah. Look, I was...I was thinking-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Congratulations,” Aziraphale murmured, earning a smack on the hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can get you out of the palace without anyone noticing,” he said quickly, Livia’s eyes growing wide. She sat up and blinked a couple of times before saying anything. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. “Really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Are you sure this will work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony flashed Aziraphale a mischievous grin as they walked towards the ballroom. “Of course it will work, angel. Who do you think I am?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A nit-wit,” he heard him mutter, earning another slap on the arm. “Ow! That really hurts, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How do you think I feel?” Livia grumbled from behind them. “Shit, there’s Valeria!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I told you this wouldn’t work,” Aziraphale groaned, but shut up when Valeria saw them. “Oh, hello!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello,” she murmured, still looking at the papers she was carrying, but glanced up at having realized they were there. Startled, she took a step back, almost knocking down a jade vase. “Oh, for - El-Gabal, you frightened me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry,” Anthony said quickly, picking the papers she’d dropped. “Uh, I was just going out for a midnight stroll.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “With these two?” She asked surreptitiously, snatching the papers from him. “Whatever. I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah. It’s a, um, new trend,” Livia said quickly, and Anthony nodded. Valeria frowned. She hadn’t bought it. “Since when are slaves up to date on the newest trends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Since when have you been the one policing this place?” Livia groused, using her stronger arm to grab Anthony and Aziraphale. “Besides, you shouldn’t question an emperor. He could have you put to death, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What she said!” Anthony called back, garnering a glare from Aziraphale as they hurried past her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I dare say, my boy, that I don’t think I’ve ever seen Valeria so upset before!” Aziraphale said, grinning happily as they walked outside. Anthony laughed, but his words got caught in the back of his throat as his sights fell on Julia, standing by the stables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re leaving? Already?” He asked weakly, running to her side, noticing she’d already gotten her horse out, her bags attached to the solid-treed saddle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said suddenly, Livia nodding; but neither of them could answer. “What’s going on? Why- whatever do you mean, Paula?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shared a glance with Julia Paula, cleared his throat. He hadn’t been expecting this, not so soon. He hadn’t wanted to tell Aziraphale for some time. But now…</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’re getting a divorce,” Paula said matter-of-factly, getting on the horse. Anthony watched as Aziraphale’s face fell. Livia grinned. “Awesome! I mean - oh...sorry to hear it. What’s the reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’re incompatible,” she answered quickly, probably not wanting to dwell too much on why but rather how and when she would be able to get away. “Would you say that’s a fair estimation, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” he croaked weakly, cringing at Aziraphale’s disapproving stare. “Look, um, I didn’t know you were going tonight-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, you know now,” she said, faster now, trying to speed up the goodbye process. As she busied herself with rearranging the blankets on the back, he dug into the rich, deep pockets of his robes, and pulled out all the money he had on hand, offering half to Paula and the rest to Livia. “Here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “B-but Anthony...this has got to be hundreds of sesterces- how-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Only hundreds?” Julia muttered, shoving the coins into one of her bags. “Did your mother lower your allowance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He decided to ignore her, but was grateful that it was dark out so that neither Livia or Aziraphale could see how flushed his cheeks were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not a lot, I know, but I was thinking that it’s enough to get started somewhere...settle down, away from all...this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just...why are you doing all this for me? I don’t understand…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’s nothing else I could do,” he said softly, sharing a glance with Aziraphale, who was beaming so proudly he could hardly stand it. “I’m not very good at this kind of thing, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Livia brushed away fresh tears and hugged him as tightly as she could with her better arm. “I don’t care - I mean, I do - er- thank you...so much - I just...I can’t believe it. This is incredible,” she took a step back to breathe, to give themselves space. “Thank you,” she said again, the moonlight casting a heavenly light on her smiling face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know, I’m not exactly sure where you’re going-” Aziraphale began, but Livia cut in excitedly, nervously. “Neither do I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled. “Well, in that case, I wish you luck. I just do hope you can find a job without having to return to slave work - it’s a very difficult world out there, I’m afraid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Livia nodded, the smile fading slowly; realization was dawning on her. She reexamined the coins in her hands before shakily putting them in a pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I couldn’t bear getting married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t recommend it,” Paula called from the horse, patting the back of the horse. “Come on, I can take you to my fathers estate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Julia, are you out of your fucking mind?” Anthony hissed, pulling the reins out of her hands. “He’ll know about the divorce!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh. I guess I forgot about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No shit,” Livia muttered, causing Aziraphale to giggle. “Hey, there’s got to be a place in the village we can stay at, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t stay there! It’s dirty!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Suit yourself,” Livia said, hopping off the horse. “Can I take one of these?” Anthony opened his mouth in horror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Fuck no! That’s Snapdragon!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is it? In the dark, they all look the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Julia, my dear, can’t you just sleep in an inn for the night?” Aziraphale pleaded, and for a moment it looked as though she would run off right there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright,” she huffed, allowing Livia to get on behind her. “But if I get mugged-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You won’t,” Anthony rolled his eyes. “The guards’ll let you pass through. For now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you,” Livia said, but before either of them could wave them bye Julia pulled on the reins, and then they were gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony felt a hand tugging at his cloak and turned. “Yeah, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What did you mean when you said for now?” Aziraphale asked, his voice ladened with worry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shook his head. “S’nothing, ‘Ziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, I want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he pressed as they walked back in, his hands not leaving the fabric of his clothes. “What is going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They’ve just been more suspicious lately, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of what? Of you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course it’s me!” He snapped, pushing him against the wall of the ballroom, his hands grappling with Aziraphale’s tunic. He watched as the blonde's eyes fell onto his lips, then back to his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What...do you think I would just...</span>
  <em>
    <span>acquiesce</span>
  </em>
  <span> to being slammed around? Or, better yet, I would stop asking? That I would give in to your demonic wiles, like some tawdry-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s worth a shot,” Anthony growled, digging his nails further into his skin. “It’s worked before, hasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” Aziraphale licked his lips - he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was a tease, and that infuriated Anthony. It made something in his core burn and something else in his stomach swish a bit, flaming deeper until he’d grown hard. “I suppose it has, rather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think you enjoy this, angel,” He hissed into his ear, pinning him against the wall with his leg, planting sloppy kisses against his neck. “Don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what if I do?” Aziraphale said quickly, but his cock was rigid and Anthony knew he’d grown slick with heat. “I won’t - oh, for-” he gasped as Anthony nibbled his ear, explored all his sensitive spots - the crook of his neck, the dip in his shoulder. The ones Anthony had memorized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony knew then, that he had him; he grinned toothily as the angel moaned while melting under his grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I told you so,” he hummed, letting his fingers trail underneath the lacerna, gleefully leaving kisses along Aziraphale’s collarbone. “Didn’t I, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale whimpered as his fingers went lower. “This isn’t fair, Anthony...taunting me like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you want me to say?” Aziraphale writhed against the wall; Anthony was sure he might come undone, even though he had barely started. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, alright, you told me so?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“That might work,” Anthony said, his voice a low rumble now as he worked his way down Aziraphale’s perfectly soft body. “You aren’t even subtle, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony stood to take off the lacerna and tossed it aside. “I mean that it’s obvious what you like, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blushed, “Yes. But I only like you, dear. If this were someone else…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony stopped and lowered his hands. “Do you want me to stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blushed slightly, then shook his head before locking his lips with his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. Never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony grinned. This was going to be a long night. But something told him that it wouldn’t be unwelcome, so he pushed the angel behind the curtain and let his tongue do all the work.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My internet is fixed! Yay! </p><p>Also... in other news...<br/>I go back to school Monday! (I’m a sophomore. Wahoo.) Just like with all my other fics, I always put school first, but I try to deliver as quickly as possible. So! Please know that I may be a few days late (as I have been with this update, my apologies) but I will always do my best to get a chapter out to you on schedule. </p><p>Much love<br/>- Dia</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Shadowboxer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QnXjISlKLuE</p><p>^ chapter song </p><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: I wrote this in fake nails. I apologize for any errors.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> By the next morning, Julia Paula had gone, and the room adjoined to Anthony’s was left empty, each and every trunk bearing no trace of anyone ever using them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale, worrying that Magnus or Cassia may need him in the night, did not sleep there, deciding to return back to the slave’s quarters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> After all - it felt uncomfortable just entering, which he did with Anthony after the dear boy had carried him from the ballroom, where he’d been pinned for a solid hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It still feels like her room,” Anthony had muttered stiffly after lowering him from his arms. “I don’t want to stay in here. Are you, er, sleeping in my room tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’d best not,” said Aziraphale quickly, readjusting the lacerna around his neck before wrapping it around Anthony instead. “Magnus doesn’t sleep very well. And I wouldn’t want to worry Cassia. So it’s probably best that I run along now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, you’re too good, angel. Don’t you want a night for yourself, hm? A night with me, perhaps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s selfish, though!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, and?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale tutted. “I’d really rather not, my boy. As much as I’d like to, I care about my friends. They might want me around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “As much as I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He rolled his eyes before pecking a kiss on his cheek. “Of course not. But I’m still going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony scratched his neck fervently and took the lacerna off. “Ugh, this is so itchy! How do you bear wearing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s wool! Wool is stylish, my dear. Almost all the other servants wear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Angel.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale pulled the lacerna out of his hands and began to put it back on, but thought better of it. “Alright. Maybe it’s not so stylish as it is common.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony grinned. “There you go. And hey - how about I take you to get some new clothes, hm? Fitted perfectly, just as the emperor should dress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, but Anthony, I’m not an emperor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But you’re married to one, and that’s good enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well. Not legally. But,” Aziraphale said, kissing him on the cheek again for good measure. “I suppose it still counts, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course. And if you like wool, there’s plenty of it! We could have garment after garment made up for you, all the dyes in the world-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, it’s almost winter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aren’t sheep’s meant to keep their wool this time of year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, if they’re greedy bastards, then I suppose they can,” Anthony said, and they decided that the next day they would go to a tailor to have clothes made for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When the morning did come, and after Aziraphale had woken from an uncomfortable position on the floor of his room, a servant girl barged into the room, her arms folded and crossed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is anything the matter?” Otho asked hurriedly, but the girl signaled for him to be quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I need Aziraphale. His presence is requested in the formal dining hall with our lord Aurelius Antoninus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale rolled his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This one must be new,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he told himself, and got up from his mat to meet her at the door. “You know, he really doesn’t like Aurelius Antoninus,” he said as he followed her out of the room. The girl turned to him sharply. “And how do you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Uh- well-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It doesn’t matter,” the girl huffed, turning a corner faster than he could keep up. “What’s he liked to be called, anyhow? </span>
  <em>
    <span>A sodding bastard?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Really! There is no need for that kind of language!” Aziraphale spat, stopping in front of her. “And I’ll have you know he likes to be called Anthony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, whatever. He’s still a sodding bastard,” the girl mumbled, pushing past him angrily. Something in Aziraphale softened. “Why do you say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I heard he sentenced a poor girl to exile, early this morning. Rumors have just been flying! She did nothing wrong, and yet he pushed her out of the palace - out of work! Can you imagine it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale but his lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So. You see?” She paused by the doors that led into the imperial dining hall, the one covered in lavish rugs and tapestries, gilded furniture and a magnificent table. The one that Anthony was in, at that very moment. Something else in Aziraphale was stirring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” he said icily, and almost walked in before giving in and turned to her, a sad look in his sorry grey eyes. “You have the wrong idea, I’m afraid. He never exiled her. There was no other choice, not for Li-her. Not for her.” And in he walked, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand the look of surprise on her face or the outpouring of questions spurring from her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As the door shut behind him, his eyes gathered in everything in sight. Just as he had imagined, there were wall-to-wall rugs, thick and plush; paintings of the Gods (well, not the traditional ones, anyway) and furniture that had been dipped in liquid gold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He also watched the sprawling table that was almost as long as the room itself; only a few people occupied it, and at the head sat Julia Maesa. At the end sat Anthony. In the middle, there was his mother, who ate feebly, and another man who looked familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There were also servants, some who glanced up at the sight of him, and some who did not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A spoon dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Startled, the nearest servant ran to Julia Maesa’s side, who nervously asked her what was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her mouth twisted into something sour. She’s probably just ate a lemon, he assured himself, smiling at the thought. He wondered if she’d ever smiled - but then again, she wasn’t like Anthony. <br/> <br/> She didn’t have the face for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/> “There is that boy again, Sophia. Why is he here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Immediately, Anthony’s eyes met with his, and he dropped his own spoon and ran to his side, grasped his hand, and led him to the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Grandmother, Mother - Comazon,” he said quickly, holding up Aziraphale’s hand as he held it. “I want you to all officially meet Aziraphale. My husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just a term of endearment,” Aziraphale assured them as he watched the look of horror wash over Maesa’s wrinkled face, the surprised clatter that came from Comazon’s shaky hands. “That’s all. Nothing to worry about, just two men in love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nothing to worry about yet,” Anthony corrected, stroking his hand. “Um. So. I know I announced that we were in love, and we are. Still. But I thought I’d make it official.” He held it up proudly, then pressed it to his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t believe this,” Maesa muttered, throwing her plate to the floor. “And here I was hoping it was just a fling. What will Julia Paula say? You’re still married, aren’t you? Where even is that woman?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, for-” Julia Maesa stood up almost cutting her feet on the shards of what had been her plate. “Damnit! Where the bloody hell is anyone when you need it? Didn’t I say to have this mess cleaned up? Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale watched as she grabbed a young, meek girl who was standing nearest to the table. She yanked her to the floor and pressed her cheek against the tile until the ceramic bits cut into her skin. </span>
</p><p><span> “Now clean,” she hissed, throwing her cup aside too; now her eyes were on Anthony and Aziraphale - and they weren’t happy. What put the fear into Aziraphale was not that she had done it, but that she </span><em><span>could.</span></em> <span>The prospect of having her hand over him - the power that she could hold - was what did him in.  “You know, Anthony, at first I tolerated this- this behavior. I let this relationship be. </span></p><p>
  <span> But now you are crossing the line. You are ruining the Severan name. Our </span>
  <em>
    <span>family </span>
  </em>
  <span>name. I wouldn’t be surprised if your forefathers are rolling in their graves at the thought of all this, the very men that created this family to begin with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They aren’t my family,” Anthony tightened his grip on him. “Not one person here except Aziraphale loves me as someone in a family should. Well. A functioning one, anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa smiled coldly, seeming to ignore what he’d said entirely. “So. What happened to Julia? Divorce? An affair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Divorce,” Anthony gave in wearily, finally relaxing his hold on Aziraphale. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now, Mother, really,” Julia Soaemias got up from her seat to console her, but withdrew her hands at the sight of hers, which were coming close to throwing another plate. “Remember, Anthony can always remarry. There are plenty of eligible girls here in Rome, right love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” Anthony and Aziraphale said at the same time. Maesa paused and then, after examining the had-been mess on the floor, sat back down in her chair. In what looked like a throne. Something told Aziraphale he shouldn’t have been surprised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, sit then,” she ordered, snapping her fingers. “I want...two dishes, and make sure that the lord does not drink any wine.” She got up from her place and stormed out of the room, the others quickly filing suit. Not even Anthony’s mother paid him goodbye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well,” Anthony said, looking around anxiously. “That was a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” Aziraphale murmured, pecking his cheek. “It was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Something on your mind, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I don’t know. Is your grandmother-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mentally unstable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er, that’s one way of putting it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” Anthony said, thanking a servant as they set their plates down. “She is. A bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I noticed,” he muttered, marveling at the freshness of the bread. “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhmp?” The other replied, his mouth full of cheese and (fresh) bread. Aziraphale took it as a yes and continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I still work at the stables, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want to stop working, of course, but I just thought that I would let you know. I’m still a slave, and I have a job to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know,” Anthony hummed, locking a finger in a strand of fiery hair. “You could always get paid. Since you do quite a bit around the stables, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Anthony, do I infer what you are implying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know,” he breathed, the lock falling from his fingers. “Do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you saying that you are to give me oral sex in exchange for menial labor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey, driving a chariot is not menial labor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I appreciate the sentiment, but no thank you. It wouldn’t be fair, since everyone else wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What, wouldn’t get oral sex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No! My lord-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know how Julia Paula managed to stay married to you for a year,” Aziraphale teased, kissing his cheek. “You are so dirty sometimes, don’t you ever worry that someone may hear you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, not really,” Anthony said, holding his hand as they stood to leave. “It helps my reputation, actually, so it’s probably for the best anyhow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever do you mean, my boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, say I go out to a pub. The person at the bar, they see me, and they smile because they know if I’m there more people will show because a loud, wild guy like me brings a crowd. And a crowd means money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is that really what you want to be known for?” Aziraphale asked timidly, stopping at the door. He watched a flurry of moods flash across Anthony’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. But a bit of notoriety is much better than living and dying in obscurity, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, I suppose it is,” and kissed him goodbye on the nose before stepping outside into the steely, chilly weather. It was going to be a long winter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could just sense it. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We’re now past the 25% mark! Thank you to everyone who has stuck around thus far and thank you to those that are just joining! ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Relay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/OI1KfJTrixQ</p><p>^ chapter song </p><p>I really love this one! Hope you do too :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “You know Anthony,” Julia Soaemias was saying, taking a moment to drink her alban wine. “It’s been a few months since the divorce. Your grandmother and I think you ought to get remarried soon. For the public image, you know. Nothing against your friend-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he corrected, flopping on the bed beside her. They were in his room, picking out damasks, palliums, and various gauzes for Saturnalia. “Do I have to participate, mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where? During Saturnalia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” he murmured, holding an old stola to his chest. He didn’t mind the look his mother gave him. He didn’t care anymore. “I don’t believe in it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Darling, no one </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> believes in Saturn, but we do it because it’s tradition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And El-Gabal isn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because your grandmother introduced it,” she sighed and got up from the bed, then examined their options. “Go with the silk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Isn’t that extravagant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course, isn’t it wonderful?” The cheerfulness drained from her face before she could leave the room. “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, Mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Please find a bride. And soon. Your grandmother isn’t pleased. She wants to see you happy. Wants to see you succeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But I am happy,” he said, frowning. “Why does she always assume that I’m not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re not…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not? What? Straight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She didn’t have to say a word. Her strained smile said it all. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony knocked on the door. Three times, just as Aziraphale had told him. In ten seconds it was open, and Aziraphale was standing by his side, and now they were going out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And where is out, exactly?” Aziraphale asked as they approached the stables. “Also, do I need to drive you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’re just going, but I don’t know where. And no. We can walk. I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Anthony.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale attached the chariot to Snapdragon; he didn’t feel like asking if there was any trouble at the gates, so he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They stopped at the center of the nearest village - the one that Anthony frequented often while dressed as Antonia. He waited for Aziraphale to tie up the horse, and they walked aimlessly in silence until it drove Aziraphale to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I still don’t know what we’re here for, dearest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Bride-scouting. Don’t trust anyone other than myself to do it, not after the mess that was my last marriage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Bride-scouting? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Are you serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I surely don’t think you can make such a decision after meeting some poor plebeian girl who you barely know!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel, none of that matters! All of that comes after you get into a relationship, and besides. If I can get a girl out of poverty and weasel out of my grandmother's expectations, you better believe I’m starting at the bottom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But what if it doesn’t work out? Then what? You’ll have to turn that girl back to poverty!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...we’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony! Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? These are strangers! How are you going to even ask them something so serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel, I’ve got loads of money. That’s enough for any one of these girls to run after me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Disagreeing with his response, Aziraphale tutted. He itched his neck too - Anthony had taken him to a tailor - and now he wore the dressings of a nobleman, and yet still held the position of a slave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t understand how early I had wanted you, and I didn’t even know your name,” Anthony said softly, stringing an arm around the other man. “You didn’t know mine, either. Look at us now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale reddened. Anthony grinned. He looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>enticing</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he was flushed, and it had all been his doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I still don’t think it’s a good idea. What if-” Aziraphale was cut off by the sight of a large temple, probably once designated to serve Jupiter, but since refaced with El-Gabals features. “Do you see that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? The building? Yeah, looks nice, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No! That gorgeous dress she’s wearing,” he pointed to a tall brunette standing by the door of the temple. Anthony brightened. “That’s it! Let’s ask her.” He pulled Aziraphale by the wrist until they were both in front of her, hand in hand, smiling devilishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman smiled back. Anthony noticed the dress: white with red ribbons. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice, but he thought the style didn’t fit her. “Hello. Aren’t you a handsome devil?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I try,” he laughed, feeling more at ease. He winked at Aziraphale, but he only gave him a sour expression in return. He looked down and saw that the woman’s arm was inching closer to him. “Er - you alright, lady?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aren’t you?” She curled her fingers around his waist. “I like you. Although your friend doesn’t seem to like </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said quickly, clutching onto his hand. “It’s just that I’m very protective of my-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Would you be interested in marrying me?” He cut in, knowing that a marriage proposal might be less shocking than the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry...what? I don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “See?” Aziraphale hissed, but Anthony ignored him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look, you won’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you’ll get a room to yourself, and you will be paid immensely for your troubles. How does that sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman paused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That sounds alright I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you religious, by chance?” Aziraphale inquired, smiling pleasantly now. She nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh yes, very much so. So. Where is this wedding taking place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, um, do you know where the palace is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She blinked. “Uh...yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, it’ll be in the temple behind it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She blinked again. Then, her mouth dropped open. “Wait a minute. Are you Emperor Antoninus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Anthony,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he seethed. “Lower your voice, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Huh,” she reflected, taking a step back to admire him. “Would you look at that. Me, marrying an emperor.” She then turned to Aziraphale and wagged a finger his way. “Who is he, again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My husband,” Anthony said without thinking, hoping she hadn’t heard him. She smiled, amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s...progressive. Why would you be getting married to me if you’re married to him, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s complicated,” Aziraphale answered wearily. She thought for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’ll do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, thank somebody!” Anthony threw his arms around her and thanked her. “So. It’s gonna be at the El-Gabal temple-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That sounds like fun-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “-by the end of next month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The end of next </span>
  <em>
    <span>month?!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The woman and Aziraphale said at the same time, shocked expressions on their faces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? You can’t make it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, we have to do this soon! Do remember what your grandmother said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, alright, we’ll set the date three weeks from now. El-Gabal you guys are anxious. I mean, what am I going to wear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why does that matter?” The woman asked, crossing her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, couldn’t you wear your purple robes?” Aziraphale pleaded. Anthony groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Neither of you are very fun.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> After Anthony had dragged both the woman and Aziraphale home, and Valeria had presented her with fresh clothes, he presented her to his mother and grandmother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mother, grandmother - this is-” he stopped when he realized he didn’t know her name. “Aquilia Severa,” she whispered hastily. “Aquila Severa. We’re getting married. Officially.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, that’s wonderful, Anthony!” His mother said cheerfully, but quickly looked to his side. “Ah, but what does Aziraphale think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” Maesa stood from her chair, her full height coming into view. She was as tall as he was and only her size could allude to any weakness in her. “Tell us, what does your little friend think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He understands,” Anthony said quietly, grasping onto Aquila’s hand. “And besides, I can be with two people at once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” his grandmother spoke sourly; he could tell she was displeased. “But I must assume, Antoninus, given your previous behavior, that this is all just a flash of infatuation? Or is it for show? Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “If I may interject, my lady,” Aquila said proudly, holding up Anthony’s hand. “We are very much in love, and I can assure you that this marriage will stick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She shared a smile with Anthony. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shocking, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, a smile curling onto his lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But not surprising. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you think it will work, my daughter?” Julia Maesa purred after Anthony and Aquila had parted. Julia Soaemias popped a few grapes into her mouth and thought until she was finished eating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think it will. I trust Anthony, you know. I’m sure everything’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t,” Maesa snapped, tossing back a glass of white wine. She wrinkled her nose at the taste. “I don’t trust that conniving grandson of mine. He’s up to something, I know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, surely not,” her daughter said wearily, but she has spoken far too soon. Julia Maesa was already up from her seat again, pacing around the lavish room, poking at family statues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’ll have it investigated,” she murmured, tearing a black sheet off of a portrait. “Just as we had done to his father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her claws had come out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And she was ready for a fight. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the short one everyone! I started school Monday and ended up returning to online classes today, and boy has it been stressful!</p><p>I hope you all are doing well. </p><p>Much love :) ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Please Please Please</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/yXHnX9jH-kE</p><p>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Early Winter, 221, Rome</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He hated to admit it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But being in love with an emperor was much easier than being in love with someone of his own rank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A week before the wedding ceremony, Aziraphale had ceased working at the stables. Anthony had requested that he sit beside him, in the carriage - which meant that Otho now had to drive them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The night before, he and Anthony decided that they would move in together - which meant that now, he would have to explain to everyone why he wouldn’t be staying with them anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It put Aziraphale into an uncomfortable position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But the thought of sleeping beside Anthony - even sleeping </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anthony - that was enough to push him past all of it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>It’s a new beginning, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he told himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A newer, better part of my life. Our life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er- I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry to bother everyone, but I have an announcement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho, Magnus, Cassia, Cicero and Dio all looked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Go on,” Cassia prodded, Dio bobbing his head. He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m moving in with Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Otho asked, lowering his head to work on a wood carving of El-Gabal. Cassia and Dio nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes - aren’t you at all worried about </span>
  <em>
    <span>all those people?</span>
  </em>
  <span> People get compared to wild creatures and yet animals are always much better. People will do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> for your head, and they talk, worst of all, which is something that animals can’t do, thankfully-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, let them. They can’t do anything to either of them. After all, Anthony’s the emperor,” Cicero hummed, although his tone was sarcastic. “Trust me. Aziraphale will be just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you,” Aziraphale beamed. “I appreciate it ever so much, my boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I don’t think so,” Otho said, throwing his tools to the floor. “It’ll just end poorly for the both of you - you know how people are. Dio’s right. They talk. They say things. Rumors spread. Suddenly Anthony will have seven different diseases just from touching another man and they’ll want him off the throne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “People won’t really think that, I’m sure-” Aziraphale began, but Magnus cut him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I agree with him, Aziraphale. It’s dangerous. I don’t think you should do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ll get used in the end,” Dio stood and shook his head. “You’ll see, and you’ll know that I’m right. I’m going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This is ridiculous! We are going to be fine, I can assure you. As much as I have worried - as we have worried - we don’t care anymore. We love each other, and in the end love </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> win. You’re right, Otho, there’s the threat of people talking, and rumors and then them asking for him to be excommunicated-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t remember saying that last part,” Otho reflected, confused. Aziraphale stopped. And blinked. “Didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t think he did. I think he said that they’ll - the people - will want him off the throne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale said shortly. “We are staying together and that’s final. Who cares what people say? We’re happy, and that’s enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think he’s brainwashed you,” Otho muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think it’s sweet,” Cassia said happily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think it’s all bloody fantastic,” Cicero said, grinning ear to ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think you’re all stupid,” Magnus said, throwing his dyes to the side. But he paused, and then his eyes met with Aziraphale’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, dear?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are the...er...rumors true? About the marriage, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cassia and Magnus and Otho stared, their eyes glittering with anticipation. Aziraphale took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They are,” everyone murmured under their breaths. Eyes darted around the room. “But only because Anthony has to be married to somebody. You know. Public image and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah right,” someone whispered. Aziraphale shot Otho a dirty look before hearing someone else direct a question his way. “Sorry, what was that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I said,” Cicero said sharply, standing up to his full height. He towered over Aziraphale. “Is it true? That she’s a vestal virgin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blinked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The room hushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is it true that Aquila Severa is a Vestal Virgin?” Cicero repeated, as if he were dumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale let out a sound similar to a gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I- er. Um. I have to be going. So. I will. Be leaving the room. Momentarily. And it was nice. Talking. So. That’s...I suppose I’m going to popping along then? Yes. Right? Jolly good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stumbled out of the room, the door slamming behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cassia frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That was odd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Magnus grinned uncharacteristically like a tiger, his sharp teeth poking out of his smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That, everyone, was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“That’s funny,” Otho commented, waving a finger towards the door. “I could have sworn there were some curtains there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, what’s funny is that Aziraphale is that stupid,” Cicero said from the corner. He proudly stepped forward, like a grinning child that’s just successfully humiliated their teacher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come along, everyone. Let’s go tell Dio what he missed.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Hot Knife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The wedding.</p><p>https://youtu.be/VG1VVFfOnYQ</p><p>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “I want two statues of El-Gabal for mother and I want them as soon as possible. Now. Over there on the left wall Aquila would like a buffet with tortoiseshell veneers - and I want two dining couches for the guests. Got that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The servant looked up at Anthony in despair. “It’s alright,” he sighed. “You can go. I guess this is sort of last minute, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Last minute? This is the day of the fucking wedding!” Valeria snapped as she finished assorting roses along the aisle. “I can’t believe you sometimes. First, that slave boy, and now you expect us to decorate an entire temple with only three weeks notice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wasn’t my decision,” he grumbled, but brightened when he saw Aziraphale hurry inside. “Ah, angel! There you are!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, good, you aren’t dressed yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am,” he said, confused, and took a step back. “Wait, why would it be good if I weren’t? The wedding’s in two hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh. Sorry about that. Er. I have to talk to you,” Aziraphale grabbed his arm and pulled him aside so that they were hidden from view behind a life size depiction of Anthony as a god. “Two hours? Is that all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aquila‘s family is coming early. We got word last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, for-” Aziraphale groaned and rubbed his face tiredly. Anthony frowned. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s Aquila.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Is it the dress? She can’t wear anything but white, I tried to let her wear black, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No! Anthony, listen. Is it true that she’s a Vestal Virgin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “A VESTAL VIRGIN!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale yelled. Anthony gasped. Some of the servants hurried out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What- wait. Are you serious?” Anthony thought about it for a moment and realized it probably wasn’t as horrible as he’d been expecting and shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Would I joke around about something like this with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Guess not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is it true?” Aziraphale repeated, pulling on his arm, his eyes begging for him to look into his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know. I mean, that isn’t bad, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anthony! </span>
  </em>
  <span>If she really is...if she’s...if she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>then you could be punished!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, didn’t we talk about this?” Anthony asked, grabbing his hands. “Love wins in the end, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale bit his lip. “Right. But, still. It breaks tradition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think it’s nice. She’s related to Vesta- what’s cooler than that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Anthony.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Alright, alright! What’s the punishment then? It’s not like I’m gonna get-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Buried alive,” Aziraphale cut in, his eyes not breaking away from him now, no longer running around the room; they were steady and strong. “You will get buried alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I heard you the first time,” he muttered, leaning against the wall. “Well. This is unfortunate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Love conquers all,” Aziraphale whispered. “But I don’t know if love can help us out of this one. Anthony...this isn’t rumors or people talking. This isn’t taking a risk - this is it. There’s no chance - you </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I could take your place,” Aziraphale said quickly, nodding assuredly, clenching his hand tighter. “We could just use her for outings, to show that you’ve married, even though it won’t be official.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know that won’t work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, somebody has to marry her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh somebody,” Anthony’s voice cracked. People were filing in, one by one, taking their places. “They’re here, what are we going to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “At least it’s related to religion. We have that on our side. We’re in a temple...they can’t drag you out of a temple, can they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good,” Aziraphale said, his voice strained. “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t really believe in all this, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The religion. The devoted statues, the sun shrines, the pins, the priesthood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m supposed to,” Anthony said carefully. “We’ve talked about this before...I have to go. Get ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t have to do this,” Aziraphale pleaded, stepping in front of him, as if it could stop him from walking away. “Remember what you said? We could run away together. Forget all this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We can’t do that now,” he murmured bitterly, planting gentle kisses on the blonde's flushed face. “You know that, angel. Walk away and it’s over. They’ll have the city blocked by noon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded. He felt his voice grow hoarse. “You best be getting up there. You’re supposed to be getting married, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Too bad it’s not to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Anthony-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Shut up,” Anthony chided, but kissed his cheek before leaving him by the masculine delineation of a man that did not exist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked through the ambulatory and then waited; maybe he was hoping that Aquila wouldn’t show. Finally, he felt a tap on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you ready or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned and saw Valeria. “Guess so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good. She’s here. Early.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Early? How long have I been waiting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Twenty minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He let out a guttural noise. “Already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you want to tell everyone out there that it’s off or should I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, don’t,” he breathed, pushing past her towards the curtains that hung before the altar. “This - it has to happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good luck,” she whispered. He gave her a small smile in return. “You too. Er. I mean. Yeah. Got to get on with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stepped through the curtains, and slowly, the room seemed to still; he could hear anything in that moment, and suddenly he did as a lyre played in the corner. And then Aquila was led down the aisle, dressed in Imperial purple, the only sign that it was her a wedding ring his grandmother had picked out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As the priest recited their vows, he flipped over the palliolum covering her face. “You lied,” he hissed, watching as she slyly smiled. “What? What is it? Whatever you have to say, say it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“And you never asked. Look around us, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’ve got our ten witnesses. We’re fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Aquila-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“And do you accept this grand coronation, lady Aquila?” The priest had asked, a servant wobbly holding up a crown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She shared a quick glance with Anthony before nodding vigorously. “I humbly accept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The priest nodded, and the servant quickly dropped it on her head before scurrying away. Anthony grabbed her hand and faced the aisle. “Fun. Great. Can we go now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, whatever,” he mumbled, and walked her down, but held back at the sight of his grandmother. “Here we go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Unusually, Julia Maesa smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Congratulations, my son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am not your son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do wish you could be nicer. Well, Aquila, are you happy with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s very...charming,” she said through gritted teeth, grasping his hand a little tighter. “But we ought to be getting along, don’t you, Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, a girl of your status calling him by that name? You should be ashamed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aquila suddenly sagged. “I’m sorry, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look, it was lovely talking to you grandmother, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not so fast,” Julia said, holding up a hand. “I need to apologize.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Huh?” Both of them responded at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You see, I forget that you aren’t a Vestal Virgin anymore,” Julia said sweetly, her cold hands wrapping around theirs. “You’re an empress, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose I am,” Aquila croaked, trying to worm her hand out of the old woman’s. “And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And, I shouldn’t have been so rude! You see, it’s just that you haven’t acted like one from the moment that I met you...it is just so terribly hard to remember! I am so sorry, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Neither of them said a word as her hands clenched harder around theirs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her voice lowered to an inescapable, low growl. It was the kind that hovers in nightmares, the kind that children run to get away from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The kind that Anthony had never been able to get away from his whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Maybe one day you won’t act like the unfaithful </span>
  <em>
    <span>harlot</span>
  </em>
  <span> you are and grow up,” she snapped, and turned to leave. “Have a lovely wedding night!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony watched Aziraphale stare at the spot where Julia had just been standing, and then his eyes slowly traveled over to him and Aquila. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That woman,” Aquila said, as he dragged her over to Aziraphale. “Is insane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he said tiredly, letting go to take Aziraphale’s. “She's clever. Really, very clever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Can’t you be clever and insane at the same time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony looked out the window. Julia Maesa was ordering someone to get her a chariot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know,” he murmured. She wasn’t yelling or getting angry. She was just there, just existing like any other person in the room. Standing, talking, waiting. “I never thought to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Red, Red, Red</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=0nmODDYJjHI</p><p>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “You enjoying yourself, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale held up his goblet and clinked it against Anthony’s. “Marvelously, my dear. This wine is perfect, just lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Ahem.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>The two men glanced across the table. A cheery woman sat at the end of it. She was very pleased with herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, right. Uh, are you enjoying yourself as well, Aquila?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The wine is great,” she said, pouring herself a third cup. “The food is perfect. I should have gotten married </span>
  <em>
    <span>ages</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Suddenly, the door swung open; two pairs of footsteps could be heard, and then another unfamiliar set. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Here we go again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t I know it,” Anthony muttered. “Ah, mother, grandmother! What brings you over from...wherever you were before? And...Comazon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “An uproar,” Comazon wheezed, steadying himself against Lady Maesa. She quickly brushed him off, then turned to Anthony. “The people of Rome are angry because you married Aquila. A Vestal, may I remind you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Let’s let them protest,” Anthony said, finishing off his wine. “They have a voice, so let’s let them use it. Besides, what can they do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s enough, Antoninus,” his mother snapped, stepping forward. “You are sixteen now. You must start considering these things. Thinking things through, like a man. You are a man, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Occasionally,” he muttered, earning a sharp look from both the women and Comazon. Aquila and Aziraphale only shared a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> His mother went on - she was upset too, but her anger was much more fiery than whatever his grandmother threw his way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose if this is what you want, so be it. Act the way you do. You can always adopt your cousin Alexander as your Caesar. At least people know nothing of him - Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Were you listening to me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “....Er, something about Ale-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, never mind it. You don’t care, do you? You know people out there want you dead?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> care,” Aziraphale said quickly, standing up from his chair. “He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You be quiet!” Maesa retorted, pacing the room. “Oh, it’ll take everything to get the marriage resolved...and forever!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale sat back down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is it always my fault? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “S’not your fault,” he whispered back. “What’s that look for, Comazon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man tried to fix the wrenched look on his face but failed. “I don’t know. I mean...do you really want Antioch to happen all over again? Do you want to end up like Diadumenian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “What does that mean? Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Lady Maesa smiled toothily. “We should all give them their privacy. Come on, everyone. You too, Aquila.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Everyone filed out, including the servants. Then the door closed; the two men waived in the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t want to tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So you lied?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wouldn’t lie to you, angel!” Anthony barked, running his hands through his long, un-Romanly hair. “Why do you always expect the worst out of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because...well…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know. I get it. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry. I shouldn’t...well...I shouldn’t assume so much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you want to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course. I’m no child. I can handle whatever you have to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s pretty brutal, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh. Well, just summarize it, and I can get the gist of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um, so you’ve heard of Antioch, right? Big bloody battle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We all have. You were declared emperor by the third legion and defeated the emperor Macrinus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t just defeat Macrinus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What does </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Grandmother had him. Er. Disposed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You mean he was excecuted? Well, I suppose it doesn’t surprise me - what was that about Dia…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Diadumenian. His son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I heard he disappeared, very unfortunately, on his escape from-” Aziraphale paused. “What now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony lowered his tone to a hushed whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He didn’t get a chance to escape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale swallowed a lump in his throat. “Was he…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm. Executed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How old?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony looked away for a moment; when his eyes returned to Aziraphale they were wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re joking - a nine year old? How-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t know it was going to happen! Honestly! I didn’t mean for any harm to come to him.” Anthony sagged in his chair, his pained face void of the life it held only minutes earlier. “Really. The last I’d heard his father had sent him off - and grandmother had told me that he’d been in an accident…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale gulped. “That’s awful...I-I didn’t know either-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Did you know him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony sat up a little straighter, that familiar smile finally appearing again. “‘Course. They were near our camp. He was adorable. Spoiled, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Truthfully, a bit of a brat-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t understand...how could he be a brat but good as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony chewed on a grape for a moment. “Let me ask you this: how can I love you and yet send people off to their deaths at the same time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, you don’t send people to their deaths. I don’t even see you interact with any of the local prisoners. Or discuss them. Or mention them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, bad example...but m’point is that boys like him, yeah, they’re rotten sometimes, and they get their way-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Like you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony pecked his cheek. “You bet. But they’re good in that they don’t really want to harm people. They don’t even follow orders yet because they’re too young. They just...pick flowers...and stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But one day, they’ll have to grow into the...whole emperor thing, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony’s smile twisted into a frown. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course, not all emperors are bad-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony groaned. “Don’t go there, I’m begging you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale stopped. “Alright…” he watched Anthony for a few moments before lifting up his chin to face him. “Is there something still on your mind, dear?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah. S’nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Dearest, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know if it’ll work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What won’t work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen,” Anthony let a finger trail down his arm until it met his hand, the one that bore a ring on the pinky. The ring he’d had even before meeting Anthony. “I’ve been thinking, and I wanted to ask you something. Still do, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can tell me,” Aziraphale coaxed, accepting his hand. “I’m here for you, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want you to be my co-emperor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale withdrew his hand, watching Anthony’s fall to his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I mean...yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “An-dearest, I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>slave.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “I...I can see that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Slaves can’t just marry emperors! I...I need status, qualifications, money-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shut him up with a kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t need qualifications if you’re in love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want this for us. I want you to rule Rome with me...but I guess I only want it if you do, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I don’t know what to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No-I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I do want this with you, but it’s so risky - riskier than what we’re doing now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know. But it’s only a possibility, and that’s only if you’re sure that it’s what you want-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know it’s what I want,” Aziraphale said testily, looking away before his eyes welled with tears. “But I don’t know if it’s alright to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It will be,” Anthony assured him, rubbing his shoulders. “Trust me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale rubbed away quiet, gentle tears. Then he turned to face him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They sealed it with a kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m sorry for the inconsistencies w/ updates! I’m trying ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Ladies (II)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This would be uncomfortable. Anthony knew it - and the fact that he was wearing a woman’s tunic wasn’t going to help either. He took a careful step towards the door to Julia Maesa office. It was his grandmothers office, really, but that just caused a chill to slither down his back. She hadn’t acted very grandmotherly lately. If this didn’t go well she’d become more of a distant cousin than anything - and then what would the throne be to him?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Same as it always has been,</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone whispered. It was probably Aziraphale, which comforted him as he opened the door. Just a role, just a side job. Something most people wanted, but he wasn’t the type to want it. When you looked at Anthony, you could tell many things behind shrouded eyes and a mass of red hair: you could tell he was the type that </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> want something so grand as royalty, but would blow it off for fear of coming off wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And that was what he dreamed of doing, most days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Now the dreaming would have to be left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Grandmother?” A single word - it fell out before he could catch it. At the front of her long marble table sat Julia Maesa, Julia Soemaias and Comazon. At the end, divided by an arms-length of solders, sat Titus. His old consultant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “SorryIdidn’tknowyouwerebusy,” he was aiready one foot out the door when Maesa cleared her throat. “Come back, Antoninus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned and smiled. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have a seat,” she gestured towards the end of the table, where Titus sat; she did not offer up her own, nor did she ask him to sit beside her as she might have done when he was a boy. He leaned onto a cushion besides Titus; sitting would have been an overstatement. “What did you want to tell me? I’m sure everyone here would be interested in the affairs of such an interesting boy, lunching about with all your friends - who was that one slave boy, the one who drives you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> his name, grandmother,” Anthony spat, rising from the cushion. “I wanted to ask you privately, but obviously you wish to make my affairs - and yes, they do exist - public. I am asking that you make Aziraphale my co-emperor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The room went very silent. Too silent for his liking. Finally someone spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, my lord, my ears are not what they used to be,” Titus murmured, looking up at him strangely. “Did you say that you have fear of males?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, he wants to make Aziraphale his co-emperor,” Comazon said loudly, slowly. Titus blinked. Looked up at Anthony. “What’s Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony pinched his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You really can’t be serious,” Julia Maesa laughed. When the room stayed silent, she quickly raised her arm, a servant hurrying to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, my lady?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The servant nodded, and the eyes of the room shifted back to him. Maesa drank her water, and when she set it down she frowned in distaste. “You aren’t joking, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shook his head. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What the hell are you thinking, man?” Comazon asked, standing from his chair. “This is dangerous - I mean - why do something so...so controversial? People are already mad at you - this could ruin you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine. Don’t support me. But I will support him. He’s my husband, and he deserves it. He needs someone on his side, which obviously none of you are on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he stormed out of the room, Julia Maesa sighed and Titus frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What did he say about his hands?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “His HUSBAND, Titus! H-U-S-B-A-N-D! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Husband.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Julia Soemaias yelled, and then she too left, as if revolted by the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Titus gasped. “B-but he can’t do that! He can’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s already gone and done it all,” Comazon muttered, standing up from his place. “It’s no use trying to figure him out or even stopping him. It may be a bad idea, but he’s too stubborn, too sure...we may as well leave him be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Anthony didn’t wait up for Aziraphale. After leaving his grandmothers, he ran into his room and grabbed some money. Without a word, he walked away from Valeria and then out onto the palace grounds, walked away from the guards; he felt powerful, truly unstoppable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But then he fell flat - Aziraphale wouldn’t be so devastated, but he was. He had wanted to give him everything - titles and riches beyond belief. He wanted to spoil his angel and now he couldn’t give him the most powerful name in the world - emperor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he walked to the village square, thoughts of the protesters swarmed his mind. On his way, he passed a dozen men carrying flags with his name and image defaced; he felt glad that he wasn’t dressed in the usual royal garb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They could slaughter him on the spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Something told him that they would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He hurried into the center, where peasants rushed through their daily errands, slaves stood freely as their masters drank in nearby taverns and prostitutes hung by, attracting looks of both the wary and the interested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Miss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony turned around as a small hand gripped his tunic. He smiled, surprised, but it was not unwanted. He liked it, even though today he had asked Aziraphale to call him Anthony instead of Antonia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A small girl stood there sweetly, holding a basket of flowers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Roses. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They reminded him of Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Would you like to buy a flower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, ‘course. Although I have to tell you I have a lot of these growing back home, and you really should be watering them just a bit more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He floundered, realizing that he probably shouldn’t have said that. “Sorry. What’s your name...little...girl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  The girl blushed. “Maria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, Maria,” he said, handing her a coin. “Thank you. I appreciate the flower. Uh, hey, where are your parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maria lowered her head. “My mama’s dead. I don’t know my papa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He knelt beside her and tucked the rose into her hair. “I’m sorry to hear that, Maria. Um, This is a bit weird. And M’not very good round kids, but I think I can do something for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maria laughed. “My friends tell me that no one can do anything for your life but make it more miserable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony laughed too. “Well, that’s true sometimes. But I’m gonna make you an offer. How about I buy all your roses?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Really?” Maria smiled so wide you would wonder if it hurt her. She wrapped her arms around him, and slowly, he accepted it. “Thank you, thank you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t mention it? Here,” he handed her half of the coins that he had on hand, knowing without counting that it would be more than enough; she happily dumped the basket into her arms and ran off cheering, then threw up her arms, waving in the breezy sunlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right. That was a thing.” He stood and turned, noticing the slaves and the prostitutes staring at him in awe. “What did you think I was gonna do, hit her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The slaves and prostitutes shook their heads silently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You guys don’t say much, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We aren’t allowed to,” a woman snapped. “Who do you think you are? The emperor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The crowd laughed. He lowered his head, staring at the roses, then back at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I sure as hell don’t feel like one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They stopped laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Here...might as well get rid of them,” one by one, he handed a single rose to each of them, only stopping to check if he'd missed anyone. They only stared. “For somebody’s sake, say something!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you,” one of the prostitutes murmured. He rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t looking for a thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You need to talk to somebody?” One of the slaves asked. He shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I guess. I needed some air. Ended up buying a load of roses. Great day. Big whoop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Family got you down?” A young woman asked, who’d stopped to sit down for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. “Same old story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Husband?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He laughed bitterly. “No. Well. Sort of. I love him, and he loves me - it’s my grandmother, actually. Hates us being together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I think everyone deserves happiness,” one of the slaves said, patting him on the back. “Even though the lot of us don’t seem worthy enough for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What are you talking about? You all seem plenty worthy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> One of the prostitutes laughed. “Not in the eyes of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>most highest El-Gabal.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The group sniggered; Anthony burned, his neck flushing in the deep sunlight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t need his approval. No one does. He’s just...a man in the sky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I like her attitude,” someone said. “Man, fuck the stupid emperor. You know, he’s the high priest for that stupid sun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t know that. He ought to be put out,” someone else called. The group cheered in response. “What’s your name, girl?” Another asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stood and turned to face them all; wordlessly, he lowered his neck and took off the only identification he carried: a chain, carrying the emblem of the church and of the palace. The sun, emblazoned with the Severan crest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My name is Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus, my birth name Varius Avitus Bassianus. But I go by Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The group watched him; their mouths hung in horror. They watched and waited, maybe unsure if they were about to be slaughtered or banished. He let it sink in, in the warm, thickening air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Slowly, as if a careful wave of the ocean, they knelt. Some wobbled; some tried and then curtsied instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I thought you hated me,” he murmured. One of the women stood suddenly. “I did. But you came here and talked to </span>
  <em>
    <span>us.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nobodies, people that have been divested of being people. So...thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They stood and nodded, and then waited again, maybe for something to happen, for him to say something - so he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you. No one has talked or listened to me all day.” He bowed, and, just like them, did it awkwardly; he had to stand before he tripped over himself, causing some of the others to laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> One of the people that had called for him to be dethroned stood forward and gave a little wave. He waved back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hi.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hi back,” he said, grinning like he always did when he had trumped someone. Of course, this time he did it with sincerity. In an odd way, he understood them. He knew he hadn’t exactly been the best emperor. And he hadn’t been very present in recent months, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have to say, I respect you a little bit more now,” they said, holding out their hand. He took it before they could regret offering it and shook it. “Thank you, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” he assured them. “Just doing my job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “If there’s anything we can do-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No.” He waved his hands, then, at seeing one of the owners walk out of the towers, approached them. “Ah, hello...sir, you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Quiet,” the man barked, pushing past him to collect his slaves. “I don’t know what you want, but I’m not giving it up, not for a hag like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s not a very nice word,” he muttered. The man tossed him a look. “All the other words I have for you are worse.” Anthony frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen, how many slaves have you got?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man turned, surprised. “What d’you mean? I’ve got at least ten standin’ here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, give them to me. I have money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man’s mouth dropped open. “How much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Enough sesterces to keep you content,” he said sourly, rounging around in his purse, taking out the rest of the coins he had with him. He placed them into the man’s hands without touching him; he didn’t want to, for fear of his ugliness rubbing off. “That enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man counted the money, then looked at him, confused. “I dunno where you got this much money, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> if it’s enough,” Anthony reiterated firmly. The man nodded dumbly. “Good. Now get out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man ran, and so Anthony was left with the slaves that he’d just bought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now, I don’t know what you think you’re doing-” one of them said sharply, but Anthony raised a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t worry. I have a plan. Look, I’ve bought you, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, if I say you can go, you can, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You mean, we’re free?” One of them piped up. He nodded. “Hey, if you want you be a slave any longer, stay there, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They shook their heads - Anthony squinted - most of them were younger than he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Soon, Anthony had directed them all to where they could go for assistance, to start their lives fresh. He offered paying jobs at the stables, but no one knew how to handle the horses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> If Julia Maesa had seen him then, she would have never let him back inside the palace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Lately, he had been beginning to think he wouldn’t mind that so much. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is a bit light-hearted as the rest of the chapters from here on out will be ESPECIALLY darker, (another especially coming in...) especially the next one. I will put a TWs on all the necessary chapters so you will know what contains what. </p><p>I don’t know when the next update will be - I am shooting for Wednesday, as it is my birthday (my day off from school) and because Thursday I will begin working.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Limp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: I had to cut a lot of stuff from this one so it is not as sensitizing, but there may be some triggering content in here such as implications to sexual abuse.</p><p>https://youtu.be/CfTNpbraBbI</p><p>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Aziraphale had been resting in the main parlor, watching a squabble between a slave and a servant, when he felt a cold, bony hand drape over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> From the corner of his eye, he could see Julia Maesa standing behind him, her thin lips drawing an even thinner smile. He looked back at where the argument between the slave and the servant had been taking place, but they were gone; he was alone except for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could hear Anthony telling him to pretend not to see her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Flip your head, angel! S’not that hard. She’ll walk away in no time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Hello, Aziraphale,” she purred, lifting her hand. “Comfortable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” he replied quickly, edging further into the sofa. “How are you, my lady?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, fine. Just fine. I thought you and I should have a chat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A chat,” he repeated dumbly, smiled, and nodded. “Yes. Right. About?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nothing specific, really,” she snapped her fingers, a servant suddenly appearing from the recesses of the room. “Bring us some wine, would you? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know, I think you and I don’t understand each other,” she began, graciously taking a chalice from a servant. “I suppose it’s my demeanor. Do you think I’m mean? Is that it? A horrible grandmother, an even worse leader?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale let his mouth gape open a little before he closed it with wine. Then he set his cup down and smiled. “Of course not. I think you’re a fine leader.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa nodded, seeming to accept this. “I appreciate your sentiments, but I’m afraid I just don’t believe that it’s a feeling shared by the public.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The public?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The commonwealth, the people. I don’t hear a good word about myself-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale obscured his smile by his own cup of wine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s probably because you never leave the palace to meet them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“That’s terribly unfortunate, my lady,” he interrupted, setting the cup down. “But I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa pursed her lips. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, boy, but I was hoping we could at least get to know one another. I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> to not know my own </span>
  <em>
    <span>grandson-in-law.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> Surprised, Aziraphale almost fell off the settee, but Julia continued, occasionally stopping for a drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But, I ought not to talk so much about myself. It’s not a good look. It looks...uncouth. You must be dying to speak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t exactly know what to say,” he said timidly, finishing his wine. He was unsure of what to do with his hands; the new tunic Anthony had bought him had no loose threads to fiddle with, and he’d left his signet ring in their bedroom. “Er...the economy is...improving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, no, I want to hear about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she prodded, and he imagined her poking him with a stick, saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>go on </span>
  </em>
  <span>enthusiastically. “Have you been doing well here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled, genuinely. “Why, yes! Anthony has been so sweet to me, and so welcoming, and gentle, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Much better than Gordius, right?” Maesa took a slow drink from her wine, letting the question sit in the stilted air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale swallowed nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Didn’t you hear me? I asked if he was-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “...better than Gordius, yes, I did hear you correctly. I’m sorry- I don’t know what’s...is that a rose?” He gestured to a long vase sitting in the corner of the room. She turned and then looked back at him, nodding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s wilted. I have to have someone take care of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale held back from suggesting Anthony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So,” Julia continued, leaning into her chair. “Is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is he…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Better than Gordius.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale bit his lip until it hurt. His throat had run dry. “I...I’m sorry, I feel like you’re- how do you know about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, remember? We asked for you </span>
  <em>
    <span>specifically. </span>
  </em>
  <span>We had to contact him, to make sure that you were the one. And...surprise! You were.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right...I guess I had assumed you would have someone else do it,” he said quietly, folding his hands. They were clammy, so he smoothed them over the new tunic. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t worry about it,” Maesa hummed, curling a lock of graying hair. “I understand. Old memories, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You...you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, dear? Oh, wait. That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> word, isn’t it? Dearest</span>
  <em>
    <span> this</span>
  </em>
  <span> and dearest </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>...It’s so sweet that you care for Anthony the way you do, calling him dear when no one else will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale couldn’t speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But Julia Maesa could, she continued on, ignoring the look on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You must know that I really don’t mean any disfavor towards you. But a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pathic?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It takes a while for a woman of my age to understand something so forward. It’s very modern, what you two are doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale felt his heart drop. His throat was closing again; and his head was throbbing. <br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span> In the distance, he could hear someone calling his name from long ago. There was a hand crawling down his back, and then another tugging off the clothes, and then it faded because what had happened next had been stored away in his mind for so long it had become blurry. Dark, and blurry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were too many questions. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How did she know? What does she want? Why…</span>
  </em>
  <span> The whys were too much to handle. Why, why, why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How did you..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do what, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It isn’t too difficult to tell.” She raised a hand to her collarbone, tapped it lightly. He lifted a finger to his own and gasped for the second time that morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just felt awfully sorry for you, and I just knew I had to take you in. And what a fine charioteer you make!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “You said - I mean -  I thought Anthony specifically picked me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She cocked her head to the side, staring at him for a moment. “Did I say that? Well, that’s not true. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> picked you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You picked me,” he repeated. “No...I just- no. I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to trick me. I’m sure that Anthony picked me, because I know you. You wouldn’t be busy watching the races, you’d be off cutting off someone’s head-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “For valid reasons!” Julia countered, wagging a finger. “There is the dilemma. Aziraphale, you believe that I’m a bad person, all because I do my job. There are criminals out there, and I have to protect the people. The common people, the rich, everyone, and you act as though I run some strict regime. Well I don’t. Yes, I have to take care of some vandals every now and then, but I don’t do it everyday and I don’t do it without good reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I apologize, Lady Maesa,” Aziraphale coughed. He still felt weak. “I suppose it was rather rash of me to make so many bold accusations, but I still cannot trust you. Not after the way you have treated me, not after the way you’ve treated Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ll regret it,” she said softly. “Staying with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he countered. “I don’t know why you would-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Say something like that? Is that it? You still can’t see it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> nothing to see, other than the fact that you don’t care for him. What I don’t know - </span>
  <em>
    <span>what I just can’t understand -  </span>
  </em>
  <span>is why you don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re wrong again, I do care. Too much, in fact, and I care enough about someone so lowly that I’m willing to stick my neck out for him. But you’re too weak and simple to see that I truly mean well, Aziraphale. This is dangerous, but I bet you think you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course I know it,” he spat, rising from the sofa. “Anthony and I have discussed this more than you can imagine. Do you actually think we haven’t? That we’re stupid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It wouldn’t surprise me. Anthony isn’t exactly...</span>
  <em>
    <span>bright, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale scoffed, shook his head. “There’s another thing I can’t believe - you. You and your audacity. You don’t know Anthony, and you don’t me, either. You think we’re stupid, that you can just...use us. We’re not disposable, we aren’t your…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Your…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Julia smiled. “You two aren’t my servants, hm? You two aren’t just a couple of throwaways, is that it? But you are WRONG. YOU are a slave, Aziraphale, and yes, while that is different from a servant, it’s not much far off, and it’s most definitely not any more respectable. You do not have the rights to stand up for him when you have no rights yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You didn’t pick me,” Aziraphale said weakly, backing towards the exit. “I just know you didn’t.” He turned away to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But Julia wasn’t done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You have to be extra careful now, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded. “...yes, my lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A smile curled onto Julia’s lips. “I suppose I ought to tell you now: we’re bringing in Anthony’s cousin. Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The words rang dead in his ears. He blinked, but nodded - </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, that makes sense. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s going to change things around here. But whatever happens, you have been warned. I’m afraid it’s just out of my control.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale didn’t wait for her to say anything more. He ran, ran until he stumbled into the rich quarters that Anthony so graciously let him stay in, the ones that Julia One and Two stayed in, the ones that he’d so desperately despised and envied when he’d started working at the palace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel?” Anthony, who had been talking to Aquila by their room, took him in his hands. “You’re paler than paper. You alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, just fine, but I gather we won’t be,” he muttered bitterly, walking into their bedroom. Anthony parted with Aquila at the doorway and followed. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I had a chat with your grandmother,” he laid down on the sofa by one of the grand windows, rubbing his throbbing head. “She said the palace is bringing in Alexander - he’s going to make changes, Anthony! What does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I don’t know - I didn’t even know this was happening. I mean, I’d figured at some point it would, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You mean she didn’t tell you?” Aziraphale buried his head in his hands, groaning. When he threw it back, Anthony was sitting beside him, watching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’M TRYING I SWEAR </p><p>I know updates aren’t coming as quickly. I’m sorry! </p><p>Hope everyone is well.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. It’s Only A Paper Moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the song would have been angel eyes but i ended up changing it to this. hope you like it! ❤️ </p><p> </p><p>https://youtu.be/SvO31CyFlTI</p><p>song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Two weeks later, Anthony was standing besides Alexander, his hand resting on the young boy's shoulder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s all he is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought miserably. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No more flower picking or acting out. To them, he’s an adult. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> They stood before the senate, a group of spokesmen standing by, their wives an arms’ reach away. Anthony was pretty proud of himself for that one, but cringed when he thought of Aziraphale praising him for his </span>
  <em>
    <span>good deed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> On their walk to the senate building, he had tried to get to know him a little better. Oh sure, they had talked before, spent hours chatting - but they had been children then. Well, Anthony had been - Alexander was more of a toddler. Now, he was a man (practically) and Alexander was still a child, just a more assured one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So, you enjoying the palace?” Anthony asked, unsure of what boys liked anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander shrugged. “It’s nicer than my old house. Much better, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony nodded. “Ah.” What could he even </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span> to that? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, that’s great, I can’t even remember my old one. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“What do you do for fun?” Alexander prodded, almost knocking down a harried old woman passing by. Anthony frowned as he looked back at the woman, then at his cousin. “Fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know. Watching the dogs play with the pigs and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wait - do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course, it’s marvelous fun,” Alexander murmured, and, for a moment, Anthony was reminded of Aziraphale. His heart pinged. “They bite at each other and make all kinds of wicked noises. Nothing too terrible, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” Anthony muttered, not paying attention. He was too busy counting all the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Julia’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aurelius’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the family. He wondered if Aziraphale had a middle name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And soon they were standing there, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Finally, the man at the head of the table, the same that guffawed at the thought of Anthony marrying Aziraphale, let him give his speech. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It wasn’t much of one, really. It was only a few words:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m making Alexander my Caesar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The room fell silent; this always seemed to happen (slowly, all at once would be too sudden) and he hated it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, big announcement, all right, now can we all go home? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “What a...wise decision, my lord,” one of the men said. The chattering in the room continued, and then the men conferred and then it grew silent once more. “We think it’s a fantastic idea. Well done, Antoninus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Aurelius.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Whatever,” Alexander groaned. “Can we go home now? Grandmother? Where’s my Grandmother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The senate laughed. “He’s got a sense of humor!” Then the spokespeople laughed, and their wives laughed, and all Anthony could do was stand there, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>That was my line! And it isn’t even that funny. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He rolled his eyes and fixed his hands into Alexander’s. “Come on, we’re going. Party’s over. They know, we know, everyone knows, we’re done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank El-Gabal,” Alexander said quietly. Anthony hissed. He used to love hearing people praise him. And now he didn’t. What was wrong with him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They exited the building, and suddenly they were swarmed; people crowded around them, cheering, chanting Alexander's name - not Anthony’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alexander?” They both turned at the familiar call of Julia Maesa’s voice. Anthony groaned as Alexander ran towards her, leaving him to be swallowed by the people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When he pushed past the people, he saw his grandmother, hovering over his cousin like a fly. She saw him, and did not wave, did not smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I’m just another person to her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought sadly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But she must care. She has to, I’m her grandson. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “You good, angel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony was proud of himself tonight - he really pulled all the stops for their dinner. Wine, olives (even though he didn’t like them) emmar bread, and rennent cheese, which his old advisor, Titus, had told him aged very well. He’d brought in pheasant, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> dormice (he’d learned his lesson) and oysters, which he’d never had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale looked up and smiled. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He paused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Should we invite Alexander?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “Don’t you like having dinner with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony grinned. “More than any other human on the planet. But I thought you’d enjoy meeting him. Formally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, that is so-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale stopped, judged the look on his face, and rephrased it. “...so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>generous</span>
  </em>
  <span> of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just dinner,” he grumbled, earning a beaming grin from his husband. “Alright. Hold on. Valeria?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stood and waited outside their room until she appeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my lord,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he corrected, but his tone was joking. “Can you bring over my cousin? We’d like to invite him for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Valeria rolled her eyes. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shook his head and crouched beside the blonde. Aziraphale furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I dunno. I just feel like nobody respects me. I mean, why? Shouldn’t my presence just...command it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well you aren’t exactly...well...</span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> or anything, dearest,” Aziraphale said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “And you aren’t...er..rude, or-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay, we get it,” he snapped, stretching himself over the long chaise lounge. “I guess I wish I was more like Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, don’t say that!” Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him, his warmth bleeding onto his cool skin. “You are a marvelous person, Anthony, and don’t you dare get upset when I say it. You mustn’t be like your cousin - he’s spoiled-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “True.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “-and he’s definitely not as handsome as you are, but of course he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> just a boy, so that probably has something to do with it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Also true,” Anthony sagged into the seat. “This isn’t helping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, but let me finish! You are so crafty and quick it really is impressive. And Alexander is surely not any of those things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony brightened. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Really, my dear,” but before he could kiss him, Valeria reappeared at the door. “Am I interrupting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes-” Anthony began, but winced when Aziraphale swat his arm. “Ow!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um,” was all Valeria said for a moment. It felt like the first time she had said no to him. Maybe it was. She couldn’t remember. “They’re eating already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They’re…” Anthony repeated, and then he shook his head. “They’re? As in...who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um. Your grandmother, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “C-Comazon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anyone else that we should know of?” Aziraphale asked, startling Valeria. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I saw your mother, lord, and a senator, I believe-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That does it. Come on, Anthony.” Aziraphale grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the room. They walked in silence until they entered the grand dining room; sure enough, there sat everyone Valeria had mentioned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The candles were lit, the table set immaculately. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anthony thought miserably. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Everyone sat around the low table - and there! There was Alexander, sitting in his chair! </span>
  <em>
    <span>His</span>
  </em>
  <span> chair! </span>
</p><p><em><span>His</span></em> <em><span>throne. </span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Okay, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> throne, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> his, and it was one that he sat in occasionally if he was feeling particularly bitchy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Slowly, the talking subsided as one by one the diners noticed their presence. Anthony no longer commanded anything. Not even a room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And possibly worst of all, they were eating dormice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Disgusting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander finally turned to acknowledge them. He smiled, waved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey, is that you Anthony? Wow, you look really different without your robes on. I didn’t know the emperor wore linen!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The table collectively laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s my husbands,” he mumbled. “I like wearing it to sleep in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They stopped laughing then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh,” Alexander said. That was it. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What was going on? “Look, I’m sorry, Anthony, we would have invited you, but we were sure you would be eating with…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale,” Anthony said sharply. “That’s his name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, Aziraphale. I knew that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Everyone else, even the servants, laughed, weakly, that is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, we’ll leave you to it,” Aziraphale said quickly. “Come on Anthony, let’s not bother the dinner guests,” and then they were both running down the hall, hand in hand, desperately not trying to acknowledge what just happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They stopped to catch their breath outside the royal quarters, between their room and Aquila’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That,” Anthony heaved, “was an embarrassment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “To me or to you?” Aziraphale asked, leaning against the wall. “Oh, El-Gabal-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not you too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry. Oh, somebody. It’s just...I didn’t think they’d all be sitting there-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you think I was expecting? A practical joke from Valeria, of all people? </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Oh, yeah, I was just waiting for the look on your face.’”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Maybe?? Oh, somebody…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s alright, angel. I’m sure they were just getting to know him. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Without us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, look at us, angel. We aren’t exactly dressed for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How could they have known that?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony slumped beside him. “M’tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So am I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How tired, would you say, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A little?” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Are you…? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What about Aquila?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shrugged, grasping his hand to lift him from the floor. “She won’t notice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, that's not what I’m afraid of,” Aziraphale said, but he was smiling and so was Anthony. “You sure she won’t…” he mimicked hearing. Anthony shook his head, grinning wider now. “Nope. I’ve got my ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale grabbed his hand, and pulled him inside. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I apologize for the late updates! I am trying so that I won’t have to update only once a week, but it’s beginning to seem that way. If it comes to that, I will update you officially...for now we are shooting for midweek. </p><p>Much love to you all! ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Newspaper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I’m trying to keep these as fluffy as possible because I know my heart will break when I begin writing the next few chapters. </p><p>TW: abuse. </p><p>https://youtu.be/Ono3b2INJDk<br/>^ chapter song </p><p> </p><p>Also...happy Halloween! Just kidding. Happy October everyone. Go get loaded on pumpkin spice like it’s 2014 if you want to.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span> He won’t be long,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale told himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He can’t be much longer.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> Three weeks had passed since Alexander began his stay at the palace, and, as he took on the role of Anthony’s Caesar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale had been waiting three hours for Anthony. What was taking him so long? A walk with Comazon through the city streets couldn’t hold him up for </span>
  <em>
    <span>three whole hours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll give him one more minute. But that’s it. Then I’m going looking,” he said to himself, as the sitting room was empty. “Oh, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> hope he’s alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am, but she’s not,” he heard Anthony’s voice say, and ran up to greet him at the door, but faltered when his words sunk into his brain. There, at the threshold, indeed stood a woman that was most definitely not alright, standing next to his husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s...what ever happened to you, my dear?” He took her hand, then dropped it. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what’s gotten into me. The excitement, maybe. You don’t have to tell me a thing. Um, why don’t you have a seat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman nodded. She did not say a word for a moment, only heaving in deep, deep breaths. Anthony and Aziraphale sat opposite her, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then she spoke:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My family calls me Zoticus. But I go by Balbina. My father - he was very angry, you see, as I was meant to-to join-” her voice broke. “-the Praetorian Guard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale offered her his shoulder, and she took it, crying for a few moments before regaining herself; and yet both the men could tell that it was not really her, and that what was there had been reduced to something so small and degraded you wondered if she was even real. Her eyes, what others may call the windows to the soul, were hollow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They beat me,” she whispered it as though she didn’t believe it. “They beat me, just for being me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale shot Anthony a look. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Help her. Do something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>For a moment, he wondered if Anthony would really do it - after all, he wasn’t supposed to be the nice one. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But he is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale told himself, watching as Anthony tentatively held out a hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He is so very kind. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>The three of them sat there on the couch for many minutes, letting the almost-spring sunlight stream through the windows, until Balbina finally stood. Wobbling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I think I need to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “O-of course,” Anthony said quickly. “Domita?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A servant appeared suddenly; Aziraphale studied her, and then Balbina; it was too unfortunate that a servant's clothes and hair were cleaner than that of the everyday woman - a woman who was now being waltzed away to her bedroom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What could Balbina have done? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“I don’t understand it,” he murmured, watching them walk away. “She seems so pleasant, so kind-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She was born a male,” Anthony interjected flatly. “It’s why they beat her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But- she-she never deserved that! That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anthony, you saw her eye, didn’t you? It’s already </span>
  <em>
    <span>blackened</span>
  </em>
  <span> - it would take more than an hour to darken like that - I mean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> All I know is that it’s been going on for a while. And, well. What happened on the street.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What happened there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I was walking with Comazon, you know, and then we saw a crowd and there she was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What - was that it? There she was, like that? And nobody-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, angel,” he said slowly. “They had </span>
  <em>
    <span>stones.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale stopped talking. For a moment, he could not even think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You mean- they were throwing </span>
  <em>
    <span>rocks</span>
  </em>
  <span> at her?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony bit his lip. “Yeah. I-I don’t want to talk about it. It was pretty bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What was?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They both turned, startled, and saw Alexander standing at threshold, a smug grin on his face. At twelve he had perfected what it took Anthony years to cultivate: the emperor's smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh. Nothing. Really. Um, I was just telling Aziraphale about the-the battle at Antioch.” Anthony said quickly. Aziraphale nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You were?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, yes, just awful. Bloody. Very bloody, I’ve heard, and Anthony’s been telling me all about it. Of course, I have heard how </span>
  <em>
    <span>valiant</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was, defending Rome, and the way he looked riding the hor-</span>
  <em>
    <span>ow!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Yes. So. That was it,” Anthony said through fake teeth, and Aziraphale continued to nod, rubbing his sore arm. “You need something, cousin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes - I mean - well, I forgot, actually,” the boy stammered, and hurried off before either of them could make up another bad excuse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why didn’t you say anything about Balbina?” Aziraphale hissed, sitting back down on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony sighed. “He wouldn’t understand, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean? She’s hurt! How can someone not understand that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “An emperor doesn’t have to,” he murmured. “To a Caesar - well, to most of them, anyways - they’re just an </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And to them an it has much value as a fly. Do you think Alexander would care if we explained all of...</span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale thought about what he said - would he? He’d have to - there would have to be something inside of that boy to make him care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t you remember how you treated me when we first met?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. Well. Not really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You believed I was just as ghastly as all the bad men before me. Bad. Evil. I suppose I like that, but it’s because you're different. To everyone else I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad. Alexander...it doesn’t matter what he is now; it doesn’t matter what he really thinks about things like this. When you rule a place, a country, whatever, people are going to assume you’re bad already, and then it doesn’t matter what you are or who you are. You are exactly what you’re purported to be. And the way I see it, now, Alexander </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad, because he has been told that he is so many times that he believes it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But you don’t think there’s any good buried inside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony twisted his mouth into an uncomfortable frown. “Probably. But I don’t think he’s evil or anything-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” Aziraphale answered mildly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “-or, you know, a murderous weasel-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, I think I get the point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But he’s not like you,” he murmured, curling up besides him. “Oh, sure, there’ll be good in there somewhere, but he will never be as kind as you, or as honorable as you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blushed. “I love you, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I love you, angel.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed! ♥️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. The Way Things Are</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/t8qRKDtQPzA</p><p>^ chapter song <br/>this one is really sweet, I hope you like it </p><p>(Also - we have just a year left to cover (how has three of the four years passed already????) anyways aaaahh i’m so excited)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Spring, Rome 221</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Anthony turned over and smiled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aziraphale. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was nice to find the other side of the bed inhabited, but even better to know it was someone he loved. Never in a million years would he have considered himself so lucky until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel?” He traced his index finger along the edge of Aziraphale’s earlobe, his chin, and then his cheek; he was about to poke him when he stirred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Did-did I fall asleep, dearest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I believe you did,” he said, rolling out of bed. “Come on, I want to walk around the city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” Aziraphale muttered, still not riding from their bed, voice muffled from woolen blankets. “At </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> hour?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Oh, come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>angel - it’s usually you walking me out the door! I’ve been up for ages. Couldn’t sleep. So we’re going to take a walk, and then when we get back we can-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ages?” Aziraphale sat up very suddenly, his eyes wide- and upset, which was worse than angry. “What could have kept </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> from sleeping?” He got up, and began rifling through their dressers for a shirt, something </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> gilded today. Anthony didn’t know it, but he was beginning to wonder where all the gold was coming from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, Balbina, to start. And Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale stopped and looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s nothing, I suppose...just silly qualms again, like mother said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They aren’t silly,” Aziraphale chided as he pulled on a sleeveless tunic. Anthony couldn’t help but admire him. “You know they aren’t - the both of them could change our lives! Alexander isn’t just your cousin anymore. He’s your </span>
  <em>
    <span>Caesar! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And Balbina is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “In hiding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes. So. That might prove to be...interesting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m worried about her, angel,” he hopped onto the bed, and then sat up, distracted by Aziraphale’s arms “We barely see her, and she always looks ill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She wasn’t exactly treated like royalty out there, darling,” Aziraphale pulled a reddish cloak over him, causing Anthony to curse. “What? You don’t like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No! I like...</span>
  <em>
    <span>you know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> know. I thought you sort of got a rise everytime I called you dearest anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What - angel! This is not about the-the nickname thing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh? Then what is it about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That stupid bloody tarp you just draped over yourself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, dear!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “S’not funny,” Anthony mumbled, standing up quickly. “I’m going out. You don’t have to come if you don’t want too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He didn’t see it, but Aziraphale was beaming again. If he had, he probably would have assumed that the bastard was doing it on purpose - he probably enjoyed getting a rise out of him! </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span> As the two men walked through the streets, they watched as people stared at them, then ran, whispering, laughing, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hollering. Hollering! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anthony couldn’t help but scoff - what had he done to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>hollered</span>
  </em>
  <span> at? Wasn’t hollering reserved for criminals? The poor? Vandals? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I dare say that people are talking about us,” Aziraphale murmured. Anthony rolled his eyes. “You think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A woman, carrying a basket of unleavened bread, bumped into them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oi!” Anthony called, breaking away from Aziraphale. “What wassat for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “For your dirty deed,” the woman snapped, and rushed away, dropping the basket as she ran. A slave saw the bread scatter, and then another, and then they watched in amazement and horror as they crouched on the ground, lifting the bread to their hungry mouths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My dirty deed,” Anthony repeated. “That’s ominous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What could you have done?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A man from behind them cackled. “You ain’t heard, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Heard of </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Sleepin’ round,” a woman, probably his wife, said beside him. “With a slave!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I sort of thought that was old news,” Anthony chuckled, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale. “Come on, people, he’s not a slave anymore! He’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not that one!” Someone yelled. “The boy that got away!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Zoticus,” another said, hushed. Whispering began to circle around them, following them and their footsteps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Her name is not Zoticus,” Anthony said angrily. “It’s Balbina. Now leave us </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He herded Aziraphale to a corner by a tavern, shrouded by the shadow of the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” Aziraphale said carefully. “Is it true?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “What? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Angel, what are you on about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You, with her. Did you take advantage of her? She’s young, Anthony - yes, so are we, but I know she’s younger, she-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale….I...I would never- why did you just ask me that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I-I don’t know!” Aziraphale cried, throwing his hands in the air helplessly. “I just figured that you would, after what they’ve said- that you would because-because-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because I could have my way? Is that it? That because I supposedly hold this power over people I’d hold it over a girl who was attacked in broad daylight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-You know I didn’t mean it like that, dearest-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, how did you mean it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just...I was listening to what they said, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And you </span>
  <em>
    <span>listened </span>
  </em>
  <span>to them? Aziraphale, are you daft?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No! Alright, a little, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale,” Anthony grasped him by the harsh fabric of his cloak and fought every urge to slam him against the wall, just as he had done months before. “You listen to me, yes? You do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> listen to them, under any circumstances, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded deafly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know I love you more than her,” he whispered, and let go, and they both heaved as they sucked in deep breaths. Their hearts weighed heavily in their chests. “Come on. Let’s walk back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale did not protest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they walked back into the palace, Anthony noticed that Valeria had not greeted them at the door. Oddly, the entire house felt...empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you suspect anything, my boy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned to Aziraphale. “Okay, I swear that one’s new,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve used it before!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “When did you two drop in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They both turned suddenly at the familiar voice coming from what Aziraphale had dubbed the throne room. Anthony felt his mouth gape a little; he was too stunned to glance at Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He slowly drifted toward the door and pushed it open; the wood, old as his grandmother now, creaked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander was sitting on </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> throne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-we just got back,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>the throne,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought angrily - why was he angry? This was his cousin - and yet the angry thoughts camped in his mind. “What are you...erm...doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I figured I would wait for you here, since you don’t seem to use this thing much,” It stung. “Actually, I wanted to ask you for a favor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Could I borrow Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of bloody fucking course not!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Borrow? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You couldn’t borrow a person! Was he on the mend? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” a hand clamped onto his shoulder. “I can speak for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” he said quietly, stepping aside for his husband. “Course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever do you need of me, Caesar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander nodded. “Uh, I wanted to get to know you. Personally. Have a chat, talk, drink something other than wine for once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What else is there?” Anthony quipped, earning a slap on the arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Milk,” Alexander replied. Anthony scrunched his nose. “Fine, don’t want him drinking milk, eh? We’ll eat. Dates and fish. That good enough for the boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony rolled his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Says the boy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “He doesn’t like fish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It depends,” Aziraphale cut in smoothly. “I don’t like the way Anthony cooks it. But that’s probably because he can’t cook.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s settled - we’ll have fish and dates. Anthony, you mind giving us a few minutes? It won’t be long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony frowned. Did he even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale? He noticed Alexander watching him - he must have guessed that he still didn’t believe him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can wait outside, even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sure,” he mumbled, and began to push himself out of the room as quickly as possible. “See you later, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> For several minutes, he stood outside the door, tapping his foot, twiddling with the gold around his neck, or ringlets of copper hair. Finally, Aziraphale exited, and he let out a sigh of relief, only to wish he hadn’t looked at him at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He wore the sorry expression of a man with bad news. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Tell me,” he breathed, and Aziraphale bit his lip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he repeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He wants to demolish the temple,” he said quietly. “The prayer house, the one to El-Gabal - </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> prayer house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I didn’t know what to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But something must have come to mind - didn’t you tell him he can’t do that? It’s mine! That’s not fair!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antoninus, you sound like a baby,” cool air draped his neck, and the name he had taken so long to forget was reminding him of things he didn’t want to be remember ever again. It was his grandmother. “What’s bothering you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Your- my- Alexander is tearing down the temple,” he waited for her to wrap her arms around him, to say how sorry she was - but she didn’t. “Well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am so sorry about it, Anthony, but you know that it’s just a hazard at this point. You know, your friend here-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale,” Aziraphale said, and she nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “-could get hurt while chariot racing. It wouldn’t be very sporting to have such a dangerous eyesore in the fields like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You- but </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> designed it! You said to become a priest in the first place - how could you be alright with him taking the one thing we’ve all been faithful to </span>
  <em>
    <span>down?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Honey, I’ve been faithful to more than just the sun. I was and am faithful to your grandfather, to your mother, and to you. I am faithful to this world and to the people of Rome. I am-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s right,” he said cooly, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. “You’re faithful I’ll destroy Rome without the help of Alexander, that I’m incapable, and that you will never betray it. But you have just by bringing him in here! What good has he done by being here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I could say the same about you,” she retorted, and walked away and into the throne room, the door slamming behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wonder how she knew Alexander was in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Yelling sounded from behind the thin walls. Anthony shared a smile with him. “I bet you 100 denarri that she didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll bet you double that she did,” Aziraphale said coyly. Anthony laughed. “Where would you get the money?”</span>
</p><p><span> “That’s right,” Aziraphale grinned. “I guess you’re betting yourself!”</span> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>UPDATE: I will upload once a week now as it seems I can’t make the twice-a-week schedule (when I can, you’ll see 😉) I do apologize, it’s just that school is a bit chaotic and I am struggling to make the update schedule work. Hopefully this way I can push out better content to you each week instead of scrambling to put something worthwhile for you guys.</p><p>Much love <br/>Dia ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Sleep To Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/L9Wnh0V4HMM</p><p>chapter song ^<br/>This one is so catchy :D</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> The dining room was unfortunately quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale, Balbina, and Anthony sat at their usual spots - although Balbina had taken after Anthony and was not really sitting but rather lying haphazardly on a cushion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was their time to eat. Both Julias and their respective friends had eaten, and the slaves and servants meals had ended hours before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The time, Aziraphale was sure, was edging towards night, as the sun was already settling down for the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He noticed the other two had barely touched their plates. Their faces were lined with nervousness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It then dawned on him, how it was almost amusing that the roles had reversed. When he had first arrived, two years ago,</span>
  <em>
    <span> (had it really been two years? Already?)</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was the nervous one. He always had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And now, here he sat, calm and collected as ever, as neither Anthony nor Balbina could be resolved. Neither ate nor talked. They only sat in the silence, waiting for something to break it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And just as Aziraphale was about to, to stop whatever thoughts were running through their minds, footsteps were heard outside, stomping down the hallways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Both men shared a look with Balbina; she stared at them for a moment, the fear rising in her eyes, and then, just before the footsteps could come any closer, she ducked under the table, her body concealed and contained by the large, oversized couches and cushions they reclined on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The footsteps stopped outside the dining room entrance. Aziraphale watched as Anthony lowered his head, and then lifted it when they entered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale did not turn. He recognized the footsteps, even though he need not know the person they belonged too; they were a child’s, and being that the only child brave enough to grace the emperor's </span>
  <em>
    <span>private</span>
  </em>
  <span> dining room was the child that happened to know the emperor, and, coincidentally, was his Caesar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He knew the boy too well now; and that scared Aziraphale a little. The only person he’d ever know well before Anthony was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you gonna acknowledge me?” The boy asked from behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale turned. “Hello, Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s Severus Alexander,” he corrected, but he did not seem to like saying it. “Grandmother says that I am to give you the local papers, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony did not say a word for a moment. Aziraphale frowned. “Anthony? Aren’t you going to…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” he mumbled uncharacteristically, waving his hand. “Hand them over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale felt a hand tugging onto his toga and, realizing it was Balbina, cleared his throat. Anthony took the cue and read the paper aloud:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It has been said that the young, wild emperor of Rome is like no other: although his unlikely tendencies have attracted often unwelcome attention, and his decisions in regards to the denarii have negatively affected the economy as of late, more can be said of his friend, known only as Aziraphale, of Caria. The two have been spotted together visiting the common people of Rome, and it has been reported that the charismatic, friendly charioteer has the demeanor of an angel, giving to the poor and visiting the ill. Many hope to see his next venture as he brings his light further into our world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blushed, although did not know how to feel about the blatant fact that he had not actually visited any sick people recently, and his only giving had been done unto himself when he was enslaved, when he stole three apples and didn’t ever pay the merchant back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know, that all sounds really nice,” Anthony said quietly, setting down the papers. “What’s the big deal? People like my husband. So what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So what? My mother says that it won’t do! How can a former slave be so popular? It isn’t right! You’re the emperor, can’t you do something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do- what are you even asking me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now, Alexander?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m asking that you take care of the situation!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How? How do you want me to make him less popular?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nevermind,” the boy grumbled, snatching the papers from him and stormed out, only to stop outside the hallway. “Oh, and by the way, I saw your little friend. She can come out now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Both men heard a loud groan from underneath them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s alright, Balbina,” Aziraphale whispered. “He’s gone now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What an embarrassment,” Anthony muttered. Balbina scampered to her feet and collapsed on the couch besides them. “You tell me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It wasn’t that bad,” Anthony began. “It was just my cousin - what’s he gonna do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want to find out, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have you had any dreams lately,” Aziraphale asked, deciding to change the subject. Balbina frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Dreams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Anthony has these dreams every so often, about our future and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t have one last night,” he said proudly. Aziraphale nodded. Balbina still looked confused though, so Anthony explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um, so, I have these dreams where there’s this sundial, but the shadow is never cast. I know that’s weird, and the sun is even out too, but there’s just never any shadow. And sometimes, I’m just staring at a water clock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That is sort of weird,” Balbina thought for a moment, finally poking at her plate. “Are they always like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Always,” Anthony said immediately. “Barely any variation. I used to have dreams where I watched people drown in roses and flowers, but now it’s just...that. Just watching and waiting - it should be boring, but it’s just...creepy. And then I hear footsteps, or talking, but I can barely make it out. I hate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina paused, then looked very solemn. “You know, I have an idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled. “Really? What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think you should go see a witch doctor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale couldn’t believe it, but the three of them had done it - they’d successfully left the palace, even bringing Balbina - and now they stood outside what she had claimed to be the best witch doctors haven in all of Rome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Which was a very broad, almost terrifying claim to make, because Aziraphale could only assume what went on behind those doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They probably boiled frogs and then used their skin to curse people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale shuddered at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You alright, angel?” Anthony asked, peering into his eyes. Aziraphale nodded. “Of course. Tip-top.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony scrunched his nose, his sunglasses bobbing a bit. They shielded him from the sun that wasn’t there. Only the assurance of rain and heavy clouds cluttered the sky now. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Tiptop? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yeesh. Okay, let’s go on in. Standing around won’t do us anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But - my boy - are you sure that this will do us any good? The sign says that the second visit is free if you bring back the eye of a newt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Really? Hadn’t noticed. Come on, angel, Balbina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He and Balbina followed, shivering as they walked into the candlelit room. Candles were everywhere - they lined the walls, the floor - Aziraphale was most definitely sure they would burn the paper lying by their feet - and on the marbled desk, where a very old man sat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> If Aziraphale and Anthony were already considered adults, then how would this man be considered? He was at least five times their age. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello sir,” Balbina said suddenly, startling Anthony and Aziraphale. “You remember me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man did not reply immediately - both boys shared a look that said,</span>
  <em>
    <span> Is he off? -</span>
  </em>
  <span> only to breathe a sigh of relief when he stood and brushed himself off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My eyes aren’t very good, child,” the man said. He sounded sturdy. Like an old, old tree. “Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina, sir,” she said loudly, kneeling. “But you may remember me as Zoticus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Zoticus? Now that you mention it, that is a familiar name. But you are Balbina, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” she said, and then straightened herself to shake his hand. “Thank you sir - but now it is not me that is in need of your guidance - it is my friend. Well - my friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” Anthony said his name proudly. He did not say it like a statement as he would have with his title; he said it like a name, any name, and that made Aziraphale beam on the inside. “And this is my- er...friend. Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man squinted, the smiled. “You have no reason to fear, laddie. The man knows, indeed. You don’t have to lie to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. Then he made a little noise, turned to his friends; </span>
  <em>
    <span>had they noticed? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> The man is a linguist, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale thought, amused. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe all witch doctors are. I wonder, if it’s true what Goridius said...that all men like these have a front for their creative endeavors…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale winced at the name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale, is it? Are you fine, son? You look like you’ve just had a lime!” The doctor asked, poking his shoulder. Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Oh, yes, I’m alright. Just lost in thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well. Then we ought to get started. What’s the heart of your troubles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s with Anthony, sir,” Balbina said. “Specifically. It’s his dreams. He says he doesn’t understand them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man nodded with the certainty of a true doctor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And so he is,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale thought, looking around them with interest. Statues, candles, and bowls of powders lined the room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He really is no different, just interested in words and scaring people into thinking that he’s going to boil frogs and use their skin to curse people. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Dreams, dreams. Alright, on the table. It’s clean, don’t worry, don’t fret, and I’ll set this thing straight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are we sure he doesn’t need to get on the table?” Anthony muttered under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Me? I’m not the one having dreams,” the man said suddenly, pushing him onto a stone table. “Now, are you going to pay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. That didn’t sound like a rhyme. As he tried to work it out in his head, Anthony sat up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Of course - what do you think I’m gonna do? Walk away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man shrugged. “Eh, it’s happened before. You never know in a joint like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t get it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t rhyme with </span>
  <em>
    <span>pay.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And </span>
  <em>
    <span>going</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t either,” Aziraphale interrupted, scratching his head. He glanced up and saw the other three staring at him. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s not- okay, never mind,” Anthony laid down on the table. “Don’t worry, we won’t run. I am loaded, trust me. So. What’s wrong with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man turned, grabbed a bowl of powder, and then another bowl, before laying out the ingredients on a slab of wood. “I have to make a little interpreting sauce before we can begin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Interpreting sauce? No wonder this place doesn’t get any business,” Balbina said. “Oh, did I say that out loud? Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The doctor waved a hand and began applying the mixture to Anthony’s face. </span>
</p><p><em><span> “Mgh-</span></em> <em><span>fuck</span></em><span> that is fucking cold!” He yelled, wincing as the doctor rubbed it off. “What the hell is in that stuff?”</span></p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale peered at the mixture. “It’s-it’s green-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not frogs, don’t worry,” the doctor said tiredly, sitting on a stool besides Anthony. “But I can’t tell you. Doctors orders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But you’re the doctor,” Balbina pointed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Exactly,” the doctor said, and then clapped his hands. “Alright. Would you like to hear you verdict?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The group shared a single, terrified look with one another; and then, they each nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Something very bad is going to happen. These dreams are not to be interpreted as a joke - they mean something real is going to happen, and what will is certainly not funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Can you tell us?” Aziraphale asked immediately. The doctor shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But, sir, you must! How must we trust you if you cannot tell us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The powders don’t lie,” the doctor said, tapping the bowls. “Tread lightly, friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This is ridiculous...alright, what do we owe you?” Anthony began rifling through his low, silky pockets for his money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “200 denarri,” the doctor said simply. Anthony’s jaw dropped. “What? How the bloody hell could that be so much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The doctor smiled. “You’re loaded, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Tread lightly,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder what that means...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What do you think? Let me know down below!<br/>Hope everyone has been doing well lately.<br/>Much love! ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Get Gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/PhHDd-AglXk</p><p>chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Antonia looked out over the window in the bedroom she shared with Aziraphale. Over the garden wall, beyond the hill where the prayer house stood, she watched as men slowly, painstakingly cut into the root with their tools. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s it. I’ve had enough.” No one responded. Aziraphale was getting them wine; he’d told her that he wanted to do it to surprise her after he’d accidentally slipped up, but now wine seemed like a far away memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her mind was clear as ever, and because she knew that there was nothing in her head to stop her, to drown out her thoughts, she smiled. The sobriety was nice, even though she hated realizing that. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Nice.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Before Aziraphale, she rarely used that word. She had rarely heard it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She fixed her palla in front of a hand mirror, laid it down, then stormed out, down the winding halls until she almost broke down the door leading to Alexander’s new office. It had been designed by their grandmother.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Anthony</span>
  </em>
  <span> never got an office. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When I’m Antonia - when I’m like this - I won’t get one either, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, forcing herself through the room. It was small and dim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alexander, I-I have to speak with you,” she said quickly, but took a step back when she noticed the women slinked around his chair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her old throne.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m busy,” he murmured - was he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing this? Sitting around, with women hovering over him like...like </span>
  <em>
    <span>flies? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She couldn’t believe it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He is just a boy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> You are a boy, she repeated it over and over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re a boy,” she whispered, then shook the words off her tongue. The words wouldn’t change anything. Not now, they wouldn’t. “Please. Make them leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> No one moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Leave,” she ordered, a little louder. Finally, one by one, the women - some of them really just girls - stormed out. “Thank you, cousin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander ordered a servant from the back to light another candle. Then he hit her violently; her head threw back, and she fell, shaking, until she had the strength to crawl out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now,” the boy said, and although he said it seriously, it did not look serious, “what do you want to ask me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask</span>
  </em>
  <span> you anything,” she spat, edging closer. “I need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> with you. About my - our - prayer house. I know you’re having it demolished.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And? What’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s the problem? I’m the high priest! We were raised on El-Gabal. It’s-it’s in our blood or whatever. Y-you can’t just demolish it. That’s not...fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fair?” The boy asked, rising from his chair. “You care abo it being fair? What has happened to you? How can you care about being fair when you’ve murdered countless people who have done nothing but come from Emesa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “E-Emesa - what is- </span>
  <em>
    <span>huh?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m sorry, but I’m lost here. I haven’t murdered anyone. Serious. Yeah, probably doesn’t look good in the infamous list of emperors, but we haven’t all been bad. Look, could you just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I won’t do a thing for you,” the boy muttered, lowering himself into the seat. “I can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “B-but this is insanity! You demolished the prayer house for no reason, and then you accuse me of murder, which I suppose is a bit of a compliment, but then again I haven’t done it, so I would feel bad taking it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah. Whatever you want from me, fine. You can have it. But you can’t keep ruining my life, or Aziraphale’s. He is off limits. You got that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I’m not the one ruining you. You know, as serious as you are now, you must be the same way when you go out. A witch doctor? Really, Antoninus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Today it’s Antonia,” she whispered. He nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right. What’s the matter? You really look ill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m aware.” She turned to leave, but Alexander stopped her. “Oh, cousin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You look good in red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antonia shivered. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She hurried out and began her stroll back to the bedroom when she noticed a group of women watch her, then scurry away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> I must be sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She stood in the center of the grand center hall, near the ballroom with the wide doors leading to the gardens. Watching until eventually, the entire room was clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She was alone again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> In a daze, she walked out of the palace. She did not listen to Valeria’s question, nor did she try to lower her head as she walked past several servants. It was only until she reached the front gates that she wrapped a scrap piece of fabric around her long hair, giving the impression of a weary old mage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Not even the guards questioned her as she ran past, giddy with the freeing excitement you get when you know you’ve escaped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her head, though finally clear and level, was begging to be clouded again. Alcohol, she thought tiredly. That’s what I need. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She found the pub - her pub - the one she used to go to, before she had the option or even the opportunity to drink with someone else - and walked inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her heart panged for someone else to come in with her; to breathe in the air, to open the door for her - and she had that, at home, in the palace. With Aziraphale. But she couldn’t go back now. Not with the chance that she would run into Alexander again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She’d had enough for one night. Now she needed to begin it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She sat on an upholstered bench, and waved for Minerva, the barmaid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey, Merve. Could you give me a-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antonia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um. Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can’t be in here,” she hissed. “You aren’t welcome. Too many outsiders coming ‘round, and on top of that most of the people here don’t trust you anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They won’t know it’s me,” she pleaded. “Please, Minerva.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, sweetie. There’s too great a chance that they’ll recognize you. I can’t have a riot in my bar, now can I?” She tried to deliver the last part comfortingly, but all it did was stifle the pain temporarily. Underneath, it still stung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll go,” and she did. Stumbling out into the dewy evening air, she coughed. The people around her frowned and ran off, but she was still there, still standing, still lost. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Today was a really short chapter, but I think I can fit in a second one. We’re about halfway done now - I’m really excited but also terrified lol. </p><p>Also...Alexander. Most of the contents of this fic are based on true events. I felt uncomfortable with writing him like this but I wanted to do the true story justice, and in Ancient Rome kids were basically smaller adults. As Alexander was 12, we was more than eligible to be Caesar and, at that time, old enough to marry. (Icky but true.) Just thought I’d sprinkle that in!</p><p>Have a great day. ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. O’Sailor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/Azx6F2fYPa0</p><p>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale watched as the door opened, the beads hanging from the frame clinking as they hit the person who had entered. He hurried towards it, scooping up the broken woman who stood there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antonia? Darling, I was so worried about you, you were gone and I didn’t see a note-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel,” she mumbled wearily. “You can barely read my handwriting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale laughed. “Do you want to sit down and have a drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No drinking,” she muttered. “None. I mean, maybe I should, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s my thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to drink, isn’t it? Being a stupid fucking emperor, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ant-what’s wrong with you tonight? Where did you go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s Alexander,” she whispered, leaning into him, dragging herself closer to the bed. “He’s just too awful - he was wicked to me, and he’s already bringing consorts over, and my head hurts like hell-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alexander was awful? Dear, do tell me what’s the matter - what did he say to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Found out about the witch doctor. Didn’t even care about the prayer house. Did you see it, angel? It’s demolished. Gone. Forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, dearest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know you are. It isn’t fair! Why does he do this to me? Why does my grandmother, my mother - everyone - do this to me? Do they all want me gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Surely, that isn’t the answer,” Aziraphale said, lying next to her, curling his hand around her waist. “There must be an easier way out of this, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’ll have to separate. Stop calling each other husband. Or we’ll have to commit suicide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antonia! That’s a terrible idea!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It was just a suggestion!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Suddenly, the beads at the door swung wildly; it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cassia.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She breathed heavily, and after sharing a sorry glance with Aziraphale, spoke:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come quick, please, I beg of both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale looked to Antonia; she did not answer him. She looked nervous, her lower lip stuck out. So, he grabbed her hand, and led her down the halls after Cassia, knocking down a few servants in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She took them to a back room, one with guards hanging about in the corners, and pointed to the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look,” she breathed. They did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s Aquila.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And it was. There she was, being forced into a chariot by a stocky guard. Her hands were tied, literally, and her mouth was bound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s your wife,” Cassia said quietly, speaking to Antonia. “I thought I’d let you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you,” she replied flatly. The emotion was gone from her voice. “B-but we can’t let her go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Darling, are you saying we go and..save her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What, you want to leave her to die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She won’t die, your family wouldn’t do that, would they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They have her bound, though, Aziraphale,” Cassi shot back. “If they can do that, think of what else they would do. How far they would go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Antonia nodded. “Come on, we can save her.” This time, she was the one grabbing Aziraphale, racing down to the front room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When they stopped just outside, they noticed Cassia had not followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wonder why,” Aziraphale began, but stopped when he saw Julia Maesa. “Oh-my lady, we-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever is the matter, you two?” She asked as Antonia stepped forward. She took a step back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re going to have Aquila killed. We saw her - bound and gagged - I know you planned it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa gasped. “I-I can’t believe you would say something so terrible! Anthony-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antonia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, whatever,” she spat, ignoring her glare. “Why do you care so? You never spent any time with her. You never cared for her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> care, but she was never my lo-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She probably got tired of wasting away, the poor little petal,” Julia murmured. It took all of Antonias’ strength not to lunge at her grandmother. “Oh, heavens, dear, you are dreadfully pale. You ought to go take a bath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She was happy here. I know she was. It’s not like she actually wanted to get married to anybody! She didn’t want to go out there and face her family! All of us, we all had a good life here-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Except the servants you enslaved, yes?” Her grandmother asked icily. Antonia’s mouth dropped a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “B-but you were the one that asked them to come here...right? I thought you said they needed us and we needed them, that you would take care of everything…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antonia,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft as a feather. “Is that true? Or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, he’s lying, Aziraphale. He may have picked you specially,</span>
  <em>
    <span> but what about everyone else? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Remember, Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I’m-I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that. Antonia, darling, you remember, I mean - </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> said-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t remember,” she mumbled. “Grandmothers right, it probably is my fault. I’m sorry, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What- but An-it couldn’t be! Lady Maesa, are you serious in your claims?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “As ever,” she replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I love Antonia. I think- </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, I know</span>
  </em>
  <span> - that she told me you do the work around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not now, dear. You, Lady Maesa, bring people in. You run this palace, the neighboring villages, Rome, all of it. She had nothing to do with anything because she never got the opportunity in the first place. You are trying to...to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “To what?” Maesa pushed past them as if they were rocks in water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “To trick her into thinking that your mistakes are hers. Well they aren’t. Don’t twist things into what they are not, my Lady, for it will not bode well for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She smiled, heavenly. “Why, it looks as if my boys have grown up. How sweet. Don’t you two worry your little heads about anything. It will all be taken care of accordingly, and whether or not that is for me or for Anthony to decide is up to our gods upstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “B-but Aquila-” Antonia began, but she shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’ll be fine, just fine I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s not what we saw,” Aziraphale spat, and grabbed Antonia by the arm. “Come on. Let’s go on to our room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Be careful,” they heard from behind. “There are snakes afoot this time of year.”</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. To Your Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/4cRyzcFXQ-Q</p><p>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Five days later, after Aquila had been sent out, three people sat around the low, ornately carved table Julia Maesa had just brought in from India. They each hung their heads low. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony still couldn’t believe it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s gone,” he kept whispering, but he knew it wouldn’t bring his friend back. “Gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “If it’s any consolation, my friends are gone too. And I am gone from them. They may visit me any time, but they won’t because I - the old me, I mean - am dead. They are out looking for Zoticus. But he is not there anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina has a point, love,” Aziraphale said, taking his hands in his. “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> It doesn’t make the hurt hurt less,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, but he did not say it. He only made an incoherent noise and threw back his head like he didn’t care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The trio heard footsteps and ushered Balbina under the table. They had only just begun to realize how difficult it was to hide a person, no matter the size of the home. Someday, Anthony knew they would find her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Hopefully, and that was only hopefully, they would look for a slave boy. The hope that he shared with Aziraphale was that they, them, anyone who was looking, would not search for a boy that became a woman. And the hope that they shared most was that they would not find her if they did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Because if they did, they both understood that if was a scary thing. If meant a lot of things. There was the chance that things wouldn’t go right. That the forces of whomever would shift the tides against them and the if would turn sour. And then there was the chance, the other chance, that said that it was still an if, not a yes, not a confirmation of assumptions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Only if. Only if they found her would Anthony completely and totally break. Of course it would be a thousand times worse if the they, those men in white who guarded Rome, the ones with the swords and gnarly faces, if they were to separate him from his angel. From Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But something told him that losing Balbina too now would be different; it would confirm what he feared and that was that he was not good at his job. And secretly he wished he would never be, because it meant he did things efficiently, executions included. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> If he were to lose Balbina, it would be the last straw. Now he had lost Aquila; losing another friend would be the end of it all. How could he lose two friends? Wasn’t it his job to protect and to serve? To help and lead?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He heard his grandmother laugh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Serving? It isn’t in your blood, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’d say, and then she’d do something inane. Like slapping a servant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The footsteps neared closer; now he could tell that there was more than one pair, and the feet continued on, until they stopped again, now behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned and smiled. He knew his grandmother’s steps well now; even though she always changed her shoes, it was still the same commanding walk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But another woman stood there too; she was petite and brunette, unlike lanky Aquila. Her eyes were blue. Like Aziraphale’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello, my grandson,” she was polite about it. She laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder, propelling her forward. “Antoninus. I would like to introduce you to Anna Faustina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello,” she said shyly. She cowered under the older woman’s stare. “I apologize. My lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do call me Anthony,” he replied, offering his hand. “All my friends do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale beamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She blushed, taking a seat besides him. “Thank you, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh, you’re welcome. So...why are we holding this meeting again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Antoninus,” Maesa said sharply. His head pivoted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lady Faustina is here for your hand. It’s been arranged. Her father was more than pleased to offer her as a sort of...deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry, did I just hear your hand? Is this...is this like a marriage thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What else would it be?” Anna asked, confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, but my previous wife-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The poor thing, led off in the middle of the night-” Julia interceded. </span>
</p><p><span> “-who was just </span><em><span>taken</span></em> <em><span>from our home </span></em><span>five days ago. </span><em><span>Five days. </span></em><span>That’s all. And now you’re already suggesting marriage?” </span></p><p>
  <span> “They were very close,” his grandmother explained. He rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Maybe they should have a moment to get to know one another?” Aziraphale suggested, wincing. Anthony would have smiled, but it dropped when he saw his grandmother almost do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What a lovely idea. Thank you, Aziraphale. How intelligent of you. I’ll see you all later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” Anthony said through grit teeth. “Dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> This suprised Julia. But they were in front of company, and this was customary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And so the group sat around the table, the one that Balbina was still hiding under, her body obstructed by the usuals. No one suspected anything because they didn’t have anything to suspect in the first place, and this put Anthony at ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As they each began to speak, he even noticed Aziraphale loosen up a bit. He laughed, which he didn’t do very often in front of strangers, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Halfway into their conversation, Anthony noticed he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale - Anna was looking too, and she was grinning - just like he had done when he first saw him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Perfect. Just great. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Faustina interrupted his thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How do you two know each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony bit his lip. He glanced at Aziraphale, who was nervously looking around the room for something to hide under. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Unfortunately, one of the spots was already taken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “School friends,” it was the first thing to come to Anthony. It didn’t feel right on his tongue. “Tutored together by a great poet. All our lives, spent training with...archery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, how fascinating!” Faustina replied and unfortunately she really did look fascinated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “...mm-hm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who was the poet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, Anthony, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> the poet?” Aziraphale taunted. Oh, he was getting something out of this, the bastard, but he was a cute bastard so Anthony let it slide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Um...Maximus...Verius?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I’ve heard of him! What is he like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Great,” he choked out. “So, about this marriage thing-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen, if you aren’t ready for-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he looked to Aziraphale. Then to her. “I am. Completely. But I will only marry you on one condition, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is it?” She asked carefully, inching a little further away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I would like a room of my own. I’m a very...private person. You can have your own, then, all yours, and you can get whatever you want. Jewels, fabrics, anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Faustina shrugged. “Whatever you say. Sounds funny to me, but I suppose that it’s a fair request.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony grinned. “Lovely. We’ll make the arrangements, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Faustina smiled. “Perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony watched as Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He could see the gears turning; he was probably thinking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>third times the charm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because he was smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maybe he was right. After all, the public thought that he was nuts for marrying Aquila, so maybe a pretty, noble girl like Faustina would be perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He just hoped she didn’t ask him to take her to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Are any of you excited for Halloween?? I love it :) (although please celebrate responsibly!) </p><p>Hope you liked this last chapter. I will probably do a double upload today since the next one will be VERY short, but after that we will resume to the normal schedule (so chap 35 will be up by mid next week.)</p><p>much love! <br/>Dia</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. For Her</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/_ewavfe-mMQ</p><p>^ chapter song</p><p>TW: SONG CONTAINS EXPLICIT REFERENCES TO RAPE/VIOLENCE</p><p>This song is extremely powerful but I had to put that TW as it is also very hard for many people to listen to due to the content. </p><p>Know that you are loved!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Rome, Summer, 221</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> It was the day of the wedding ceremony. The entire palace was working; the servants and slaves scurried around, although the servants were allowed a break every hour and the slaves were ordered to fill in for them, so the entire villa was rather tense. It was thick, too, enough that when Aziraphale bumped into Otho he garnered a glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before he could walk away, Aziraphale waved him over. Reluctantly, he approached him, his arms ladened with roses and ribbon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale,” he said, like an announcement. “I wanted to tell you that we aren’t friends anymore. So don’t try and talk to me now, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale sagged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wait- I-I don’t understand. Could you explain-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Livia. That’s your answer. Where did she go? No one knows. Just left. All we know is that you two were the last ones with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale bit his lip. “I-It’s a bit complicated-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Did you know that Magnus is ill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt his teeth dig into the skin of his lip. “What?” His mouth was dry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s right,” the boy repeated, almost proud of saying it. “Sick, and we’ve been left to care for him. And yet you two sit back and can enjoy yourselves, what with your money and clothes. Magnus, he doesn’t have anything. Enjoy thinking about that, Aziraphale, for as far horrid your life may become ours will always be a thousand times worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before he could turn, Aziraphale choked out the words: My life is far from perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho laughed. “Of course. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> glad to hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a twisting in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. “I...I forgive you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho shook his head. “Cicero was right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned, and grabbed his arm. “Cicero? What about him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “After you </span>
  <em>
    <span>took</span>
  </em>
  <span> Livia, he said he’d suspected the worst. That you are nothing but a gold digger, a pet and a puppet of a man who doesn’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Something inside cracked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t believe that,” he began, watching expressions wash over Otho’s face like water. “Not for a minute. Because Anthony does love me, and I know it to be true; it’s proven in his heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “His heart? What about it? What heart does a man like him have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He has more heart than any other man I’ve ever met and more heart than the best of angels,” he said softly. “He is my Daphnis, and I his Chloe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho suddenly approached him, his sharp eyes tracing the lines of his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What man could ever love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale could have laughed. And he almost did, but he felt confident, and this is what made him say the next thing, the thing he shouldn’t have, but did:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose that you’re right. After all, the only other man in my life didn’t. He...he wrecked me, and I felt refused of love…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho’s eyes widened, and he mumbled something; for a moment he seemed petrified and then he ran. He was gone, and seemingly Aziraphale was alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale,” said a voice from behind. “What did that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But he wasn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned and saw Anthony there, his mouth hung open a little, his amber eyes flooded with an inquisitive rage, dressed in his ceremonial purple robes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And all Aziraphale could think to say was this:</span>
</p><p><span> “Oops.”</span> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Sullen Girl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>...can’t believe it’s already November! <br/>https://youtu.be/uU1z9UReOQY</p><p>^chapter song <br/>It’s really pretty, I would recommend that you listen!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Anna Faustina looked beautiful. And this was a bit of a problem, because her father was there in the grand hall of the palace, sitting next to her mother, and Anthony had to pretend to love her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He figured that he would, but only as a friend. He was fairly sure Anna was a moron, but he didn’t know her well enough yet. She was young, nervous, and looked convincingly dumb, which was everything he didn’t want in a wife; it meant he’d have to treat her like one because that was what was expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Dressed in his wedding robes, the same ones he’d worn when he married Aquila - he’d grown out of the ones he’d worn the first time - it was dawning on him that Aziraphale had been hiding things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Of course, that feeling had been mounting. But he hadn’t expected the man he loved, the one he treated as his husband, to keep something so...terrible from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt lied to, but that made him feel guilty. He stared at Anna to ward off the thoughts. She still looked terrified of him. Maybe it was the eyes. He was wearing a little rogue, but he’d made sure not to overdo it. No, it couldn’t be that: she was terrified of getting married to him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>How these little things change just enough, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought to himself. He would not take her to bed. He would treat her as a friend. Nothing more. He couldn’t. Not with her so scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The witnesses of his wedding were getting tired; he could see one falling asleep on an oak bench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His family stood tall, proud, happy. Not a sleepy eye could be seen. His mother was smiling, his grandmother was smiling, and yet he couldn’t do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was in his mind again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lord?” The man before him, dressed in the robes of Jupiter, not of El-Gabal, touched his hand. He jerked it away nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lord, it is your time to exchange vows with the lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh. Yeah. Um, so I take your hand, n’ I vow to love you forever and ever and ever. And ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “...yes,” the man said, shaking his head. “Right. Lady Faustina, do you accept the lords vows?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” she said sweetly. “Now, mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The priest nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” she began, taking his shaking hands, “we don’t know each other. Not that we don’t know each other that well; truthfully, we don’t know each other one bit. So I suppose I would like to get to know you. I hope you can offer the same pledge to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony blinked. He was wrong, very, very wrong. He hadn’t expected her to be...eloquent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” he said weakly. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lovely,” she said love-ily, and then looked to the priest. “The rings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, the rings. We are to wrap the lady’s hand in silk; then the rings come, but only when we are sure they are in bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Bed?” Anthony choked, looking for Aziraphale’s gaze in the crowd. He couldn’t find it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Just a joke,” the priest said. “Although we must wrap the lady’s hand, as it has been requested as a formal binding ceremony by Lady Maesa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right.” Faustina hadn’t said a thing about wanting her hands wrapped. Maybe he hadn’t been listening. He’d probably missed it, too focused on himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Once the hands were wrapped, the audience clapped; Julia Maesa stood, beaming, proud, tall, happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony smiled a little too, only happy to be congratulated, although he couldn’t stop wondering where Aziraphale was. He scanned the crowd for blonde hair, those familiar curls...but he came up with nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, alright,” Julia Maesa said after some time, walking to the front of the room where Anthony and Anna stood. “On behalf of our family, we are so pleased that you all could make it. Dignitaries, the lovely bride's family, and the delegations that have come from far lands, may our Gods have our witness that you all be blessed for years to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The audience clapped again. Their smiles did not dissipate. Julia continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We ask that you come and see the bride and groom as they leave our grand hall and enter the Royal quarters. It is the most important ceremony of the wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before Anthony could protest, he and Anna were followed down the halls, two slaves carrying a thick tapestry behind them, emblazoned with their family symbols. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was more opulent than any of the weddings before. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> wedding. Which scared him a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He and Anna stopped outside her bedroom. The slaves hung the tapestry, and Julia ushered them inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The crowd stood and waited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh...I love you...baby,” Anthony said carefully. The crowd whispered and Julia continued to smile. “Why don’t we...um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, but we can’t,” Julia said, watching his eyes. “Not with this crowd here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, oh, we must leave the newlyweds alone,” Julia said quickly, rushing out of the room. “They are most terribly shy, I’m afraid - but see, my grandson is normal - I mean - they’re so in love!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The guests ignored her faltering and clapped again. Julia shot them a smile as she shut the door to the room, the beads hanging from the frame crinkling, shining against her tight face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’ll see you two in the morning. Good night, </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shuddered the moment the door closed. He turned to Anna, whose eyes were wide and mouth was open in shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You okay? I know that was extreme and all-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That was extreme? Anthony, that was...that was...I don’t even know what it was. But it certainly was </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span> than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hold that thought,” he said quickly, getting up from the floor. “I’ll be back...momentarily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, and what will we do then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um. I don’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” he said, and left before he could say anything else. He ran across the hall and stumbled into his bedroom, where he found Aziraphale, sitting wide awake on their bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Anthony,” he breathed, and accepted a hug. “Wait. Shouldn’t you be getting on with the...ceremony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he murmured, tucking his cheek against the crook of his neck. “Couldn’t do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why ever not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Darling - angel - after what you told me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not yet,” he said quietly. “I don’t...I wanted to tell you, but I...I just need to start from the beginning, and I-I need a minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” he said softly, peppering him with kisses. “Of course. Anything you need to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you,” Aziraphale said, and this time, heaved out a heavy sigh. “Just a minute. And then I’ll tell you everything.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Regret</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW ~ indirect ref. to sexual abuse (I just couldn’t write it explicitly, it was too difficult and heart-wrenching but I tried nonetheless)</p><p>https://youtu.be/LUOsyBPFfAo</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Caria, 217</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Boy</span>
  </em>
  <span> was all Aziraphale heard anymore. He had no other name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Not long after his parents had both died and he was born again as a slave, did he become a boy again. But he was not the boy that he once was; he was the boy of a man. He was owned, and he knew then that he would no longer have his freedom. Nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could no longer walk along his hometown without permission. He could no longer buy a dog of his own or spy the dogs his master owned. He wished to own something, but he himself was owned, and in that he knew that he could not bear to keep something like a dog in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> After all, he did have standards, and morals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He’d been taken in by a charioteer named Gordius. Said that he would teach him how to become a famed charioteer, that he would be the best in all of Caria. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is your name, boy?” The man had asked. He was large and tall; he had reddish brown hair and eyes the color of copper. Some days they had an amber sheen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t have one now,” he said quietly, defeated. “I did, but I was told by a shaman that used to visit our home that I must not tell my name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But were you born with one, boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was,” he replied, taking in the whole of the man. “But my mother’s master did not use it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And was he good to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh yes,” he said cheerfully, grinning. “He never hit my mother or I. He was very gentle, very kind; but not so much with anyone else. He seemed to sort of...change around us. Like we were special. Like we were...different, I suppose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Then tell me your name, boy, for I can see you are good too. Tell me, tell me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He frowned. “But the shaman-” a sharp slap tingled against his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Gordius knelt beside him, taking his hands in his. “The shaman is no one to you now. You tell me, boy, and I shall have a reward for you. And if you do not, you will suffer, suffer great amounts of pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He gasped. His mother had told him to always obey; but his master, the man he had been raised to -  advised that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>obey when it counted.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> So when he spoke next and the letters tumbled out, he had obeyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The letters were not his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale,” he said breathily. It sounded just fine to him. Gordius frowned. “Are you lying, boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, never,” he said quickly. “I am truthful to you, master.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Gordius smiled. “Good.” He stood and walked away. Aziraphale did not see him for many more days; it was not until on the fifth night he heard the door open to his room. It was on the end of the villa, hidden away from guests and other conspicuous people. People that had eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt a cold hand against his neck, and then a finger tracing along his forehead. Then his jawline, and then lower until the icy tips of the fingers reached his beating heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He wrestled in thin blankets; but the hands held him down and so he grew submissive in the dark, waiting until the lingering figure could no longer stand to hover over his young body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The hands explored and traveled. They had jobs that he didn’t even know existed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was immovable by those hands that held him there. They constrained him and were the invisible binds around his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And when the hands had finished their journeying, and they had finally finished excavating his body, his heart, and his soul until they were crushed up dirt he felt cold dead. He could not move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He woke again later that morning. For many minutes he lay there, his eyes focused on the bare ceiling of his small room. The man would be up soon, and he would begin his training to become Caria’s charioteer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Now that seemed far away and inconsolable to him. He could not see it; it was out of his reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> So the months passed. He grew older and stronger. His muscles no longer ached from towing around carts and leading the horses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was in between a boy and a man and Gordius was neither and yet he taught him indirectly of what being a man was, and that was what Gordius was not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was something other than, something almost indistinct but familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was the owner of many things and Aziraphale became determined to no longer be one of them. Begging and begging eventually led them to Rome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And this is where our story (re)begins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want to go to Rome,” he said to Gordius, who lay on a new couch he’d ordered from India. It was richly colored and beautiful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A dark contrast</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, as he fanned his master. “Master?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Gordius did not stir; he stopped fanning, and then whistled loudly, snapping his fingers. Suddenly he sprang from the couch, his eyes darting around quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is it? Did you hear that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale did not respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, whatever. Keep fanning, boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> After a moment, Aziraphale regained his courage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Master?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Gordius opened one eye. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “May I go to Rome to perform?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you mean...as a charioteer? In front of the public?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I think I would do so well,” he said happily, standing up excitedly. The fan fell to the floor. “I’ve gotten terribly good at throwing the whip, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And? What if the new emperor were to see you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The new emperor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sit, sit, I don’t have time to explain. And keep fanning. I’ll think it over, but you are to not keep your earnings. You know what will happen if you are to fail, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, master.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was then that Aziraphale learned of the emperor; he learned that he was odd, but paid no attention to any rumors. He didn’t have time for them. Now he only had time to practice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was his escape from Gordius, and from being a slave. It was all he needed. But Gordius was not entirely useless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> After all, he taught him how to regret. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>let me know if you enjoyed :) (Sorry for the inconsistent updates! I’m kind of struggling with high school atm so yeah haha) </p><p>❤️ THANK YOU FOR READING ❤️<br/>and thanks to lijah for all the love in the comments!</p><p>Edit: Woah!! I just checked and it has dawned on me that it has been a year since I wrote my first fanfiction. THAT IS SO CRAZY. I can’t believe it. Thank you for all the love and support you guys have given me this last year and I can’t express how much it means. (I know it’s cliche but it really does mean the world!!) THANK YOU!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Werewolf (I)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/Fby632bPn0E<br/>^ chapter song</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Eight Days Later</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Anthony, Aziraphale, and Balbina sat around the table eating breakfast. Balbina’s wounds had finally healed; so she looked much better and much healthier. And it was sort of funny, Anthony supposed, that she did and he did not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> After all, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> the emperor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He so often used that title to console himself, because he realized he’d been left with little else. All he had was Aziraphale and his name. The money, clothes, and jewelry seemed so small to him now, for it did nothing but gleam and shine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Only minutes after they began eating (bread, fowl, and honey that day) they heard footsteps. Alarmed, Balbina tried to push herself under the table in time but couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Instead, she knocked over her cup, spilling onto the floor and Julia Maesas new plush rug. Anthony looked around the room. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>No servants. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anthony grimaced, remembering that Aziraphale had asked them to leave so that they could sneak Balbina in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> This is why Anthony and Aziraphale were left to clean, and why when the door opened, Anthony had not yet finished scrubbing the rug, and Anna Faustina began to laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before Balbina could lift her head in shame, Anna approached them, a smile on her rosy face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Cleaning, emperor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony glanced up nervously. “Um. It’s a new initiative?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna laughed again. She didn’t giggle like a teenager; in fact, her voice was a little raspier than Anthony had noticed before and her laugh was just the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine, then let me join you. If I may.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” Aziraphale cut in, standing up. “We allow all people here. Now, er, Lady Balbina, let’s see that you are to...er…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “To be escorted to your...meeting.” Anthony finished. “Right. Very important meeting, it is, and uhh-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” Balbina stood, taking Aziraphale’s hand, and bowed awkwardly to Anna. “I am to be on my way, that is, to see my...aunt...Lady Maesa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Your aunt is Lady Maesa? The Grand Empress?” Anna asked, cocking a brow. “And why is it that you are not dressed in the finest clothes? Your hair is not long, either - in fact, you look rather like a milkmaid, or a young girl, what with your hair all a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina gasped, covering her mouth with a hand. “How-how dare...thee make fun of me, the niece of the empress!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna stared at her for a long time before laughing her raspy laugh. “Oh, I was just speaking in jest! You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> a character. Don’t worry, darling, I won’t tell a soul.” She winked and took an open seat opposite Anthony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They all stared at her in amazement before taking their seats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do speak,” she said suddenly, taking a wheat pancake for herself. “I’d hate to be the only one to speak. After all, you two are so incredible!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “Whatever do you mean, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna pointed at him and Anthony. “You two brought a servant girl in here and are dining with her! No one else would do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How did you figure it, Faustina?” Anthony asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She shrugged. “Eh. It was obvious. Especially from the hair. I ask this seriously: do you have a hairbrush-er-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina,” Balbina put in. She shook her head. “Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna clucked her tongue and began stabbing the meat on her plate. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina brightened. “Really, Lady Anna?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna smiled, nodded. “Yes. But please, call me Lady Faustina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not Lady Severus?” Aziraphale asked, amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” she said tiredly, tossing a bone to the side. “I’m tired of names.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah,” everyone said, because none of them had an answer. A few moments later, Anna finished eating, and for a minute she stared at Anthony, then Aziraphale, then the both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you two together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What makes you sssay that?” Anthony said, hissing slightly. Aziraphale gripped his arm, and slowly he swallowed his anger. Too many years of explanations and hatred would not lead him down that path again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I don’t know, isn’t it obvious?” Balbina asked. They both thought about that for a second before smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I knew it,” she triumphantly raised her hands. Then she flashed Anthony a sad smile. “I sort of knew it before, but my father was so pleased, and your grandmother…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I understand,” he said, and he did, which made it worse. “My grandmother was very...adamant that we marry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “These things are not uncommon, nor unnatural, as you know. One day I’m sure you two may find your peace, as I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled graciously. “How kind of you, Faustina. I appreciate your words, and I am sure Anthony does too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think we all know too well,” she began solemnly, “that we are held to our expectations high. You, Anthony, are to not marry your man. Well, I was not to marry mine. I could not be with him because he was a poor man. We know the story. I am sure you, Balbina, know it too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do,” she said quietly. “I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know it,” Aziraphale said. “But I knew it before Anthony. Because I was a slave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna’s mouth dropped a little. “You weren’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was,” he lifted up the sleeve of his chiton to show the mark that had been left from the hand of Gordius on his shoulder. Anna cringed. “Burned, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded. “Let’s talk about something else,” he said quickly, noticing that the air was thicker and that everyone had grown uncomfortable in the silence he’d left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right, so...Anthony, I had a question,” Anna said, not waiting for him to answer. “It’s about the denarri. Have you seen it’s rates lately? Half the people out there can’t even afford an apple!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony bit his lip. He suddenly realized that Anna was smarter than he’d thought and now he had to come up with an answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Um. That’s not really my job.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Unfortunately, that wasn’t the right one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you mean, it’s not your job?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I mean, I’m not allowed to do it,” he said tersely. “Trust me, if I could I would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What kind of place is this?! The emperor doesn’t even have a job?! Who does it, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do,” a voice from behind her said. Anthony and Aziraphale groaned. Disgusted, Balbina got up to leave, and while doing so bumped into the boy that owned it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna turned. “Oh, Alexander,” she said shyly, running a hand through her hair. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony felt his face sink. He felt better knowing Anna wasn’t attracted to Aziraphale (although he had sort of realized that already) but didn’t know how to feel about her liking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alexander.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> Whatever he had been expecting her to say, that hadn’t been it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I take back what I thought,” he muttered, and grabbed Aziraphale. “See you guys later.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the late update, guys! I had to travel (don’t worry, masks were worn!) to see family. Hope you enjoyed, especially as this is a well-needed departure from the content from the last one. ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Relay (II)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>relay part two! </p><p>https://youtu.be/OI1KfJTrixQ</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Fall, Rome, 221</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> It was in the library that Aziraphale found peace. Of course he had found it in Anthony; but when they were apart and Anthony had some publicity stint pulled for him, he was alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He had no one else but the books and tablets that lined the great royal library. Balbina was funny and charming, but her presence reminded him of before, when he was under the hold of Gordius, before he’d met Anthony. He could no longer meet his old friends. He was high above now, and there was no coming down. It would insult them, he thought miserably. They’d think I was condescending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And then, as if someone had been listening, he looked up and saw Cassia and Dio hurry in. They were busy checking books, Dio mischievously poking at a picture book, laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale quietly closed the text he’d been scanning and stood. He walked over, unassuming, and then proceeded to ‘accidentally’ bump into them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Cassia,” he said, although she was not looking at him. “What a coincidence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We aren’t that poor,” Dio said snidely, but he brushed it off. “Not much of a coincidence, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t even know what that word means, Dio,” Cassia murmured, leafing through a lengthy report on the senate. It looked to be at least thirty years old. “How are you, Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, very well,” he replied. “Um, what are you two doing here? I didn’t know you read, Dio.” He cringed at the last sentence, imagining their image of him crumpling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s helping me do the rounds,” Cassia set the book aside to finally look him in the eye. Aziraphale marveled at how she’d grown. Her face had aged, but her eyes had remained the same. They always do. “Valeria has taken me on as a sort of...apprentice. I get paid now, so I suppose it’s better than being pushed around, but the workload is hell. Too much for one person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” Aziraphale replied. He felt stupid. What else could he say? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Congratulations that you’re not a slave? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He watched her lips squirm. Her eyes hadn’t changed, surely, but there was something different about them. They looked sadder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you alright, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She sighed, casting a glance to Dio, then back at him. It was a lofty sort of glance, as though her mind would rather be away and actually sort of was. She had changed, or at least something had, and the next words that tumbled out of her mouth proved it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Magnus is dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale felt his eyes droop to the floor. He hadn’t killed Magnus. He hadn’t done anything, but maybe that was why he began to feel a pool of guilt bubbling inside of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He hadn’t even known, and it hit him: that in the very palace he stood in, a boy had died, a boy that he knew, a boy that he had spent hours with, a boy that was now decaying somewhere and had nothing left but the memory of others. It was a painful thing to think about. It made the guilt worsen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I-I didn’t know. I’m...well, I’m terribly sorry it happened,” he began again, as if this would make up for the guilt and his conscience. It didn’t come out right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I never visited him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I think once, maybe it was Otho that told me, but I didn’t think...well, I didn’t know-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s okay,” she said, stopping him. “He was sick for a while. A long while. I think it...it was almost necessary. It gave end to the pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Once, towards the end, he asked for you,” Dio added, as if it would lessen everything. “He liked you a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry,” he said again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Again, it’s alright,” Cassia soothed, and began gathering her things, but she continued to stand there, and so did Dio. “I heard about the wedding. I mean. The Faustina girl and Anthony, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Was it grand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Very.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wish I could have been there,” she said, looking away from several moments. “But it’s no matter. I’m sure it was just as grand as the weddings I see in these books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sure it was,” Aziraphale said, although he did not know why. He’d been there, but when he tried to recall it the memory was clouded and fuzzy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, we’ll see you,” Dio said. “We have to get back to the room and make a list of all the books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So, yeah - ah, we hope everything goes well for you and Anthony,” Cassia did not prompt a hug. Her words were veiled under phony sympathies, and in that way they did not prompt a response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He watched as they trotted off, the rattling wooden door slamming behind them. For an hour, he poured over old manuscripts and ledgers, staring at the paper and the Latin headings. He found it comforting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> After a while, he yawned, and although he figured he wouldn’t sleep that night, he decided to put the books back and find Anthony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he made his way to the door, he heard a soft sniffling noise; coughing, and then slow, heavy breathing. He frowned and walked around a corner towards the back. The sniffling grew louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He reached the very back of the library, where it was very dim and the candles were few and far between, until he could make out a figure that the noises belonged to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a long dress, and as he neared he knew it was a woman; when he noticed the color of the dress, he gasped and almost backed into a towering shelf of slates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The figure scuttled and drew themselves further into their corner. He could see, even in the dim light, that the dress was purple. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Royal</span>
  </em>
  <span> purple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He bit his lip, and then quietly called out the woman’s  name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Slowly, she appeared and stood; he sighed a grateful sigh of relief but it grew into worry when he saw the pained look on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anna,” he said, reaching out. “It’s me, Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know,” she said quickly, jerking her arm back. She winced in pain. “I’m alright, just leave me be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You aren’t, I heard crying,” he said, coaxing her forward towards the light. “Please, Anna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She whimpered for a second, then cleared her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want to know what’s wrong, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“It hurts,” she whispered, and walked forward, displaying her right arm. Her wrist was bleeding. Hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, El-Gabal,” he pulled her closer towards the center of the room, but she refused with every step. “My dear, what happened to you?” He stopped by a candle to watch the blood dry; fresh blood was still rolling down her arm, but most of it was caked onto her skin. It looked hours old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The bastard hit me with a vase,” her voice was an earthy roar. “I want him dead. I never want to see him again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What bastard, Anna?” He prompted impatiently, extending her arm. She winced again, then hesitated before looking down at the blood and then steadily at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alexander,” it was only a name, a single name oozing out of the surface. It sounded like an insult that had bobbed to the surface. A name from hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He didn’t register a thought after that; only an action. He took her other arm, as he and Anthony had done with Livia only months prior, and led her out the door. Walking turned to running and then, as if a sign of God, they ran into Balbina - literally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why are you out?” Aziraphale asked, but then shook the question away. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was hungry,” she looked at the two of them, hand in hand, and then her eyes traveled to the ground, just as a drop of blood had fallen. “Holy shit - a-are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Recurring trend, I suppose,” Aziraphale answered. “Could you find a nurse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t, someone will figure out I’m a runaway!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s fine,” Anna said weakly. “I just need to lie down. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> After a lot of negotiations, Balbina and Aziraphale managed to walk Anna to Balbina’s room, a large closet tucked behind the library. Few even knew a presence slept there; a few guards, perhaps, that had been let on and bound to secrecy and a nurse who cared for her that had unexpectedly disappeared soon after she began her stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They lay her on the makeshift bed, a small but durable cot, and used one of Balbina’s dresses to form a bandage around the gash. They worked quietly for many minutes; the only noise was the occasional grunt from Anna. Sometimes, she grimaced, but other than that her face was quiet too. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/><br/> Once Balbina and Aziraphale had finished, and they had been able to coax Faustina to sleep, Aziraphale left the room. </p><p>
  <span> He was exhausted, but Anna was more so. But through his weariness, anger was cutting through, a harsh knife that woke him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked to the room he knew Alexander would be in. The throne room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The fucking throne room</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was ridiculous in thought, but because it had been realized, and since it had once been Anthony’s throne, he grew angrier, and slammed the door open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He saw Alexander sitting on the throne, perched there like a bird. A look of surprise had fallen onto his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, you little brat,” he approached him and stopped just a foot away. “You hit Anna with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>vase?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What the hell were you thinking?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Me? You know I wouldn’t do a thing like that, Aziraphale,” the boy said coyly. “Don’t you trust me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Bullshit,” he couldn’t help but swear. He wanted his words to hurt Alexander just as he’d hurt Anna. “You know you’re destroying the family, don’t you? That you’re ruining Anthony’s reputation? What will people think when they see Anna, bandaged? Or what if we are to keep her here? They’ll think we’ve murdered her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t imagine that they’ll think that,” he murmured, but Aziraphale wasn’t done. “We can’t risk this, not now,” he could tell Alexander didn’t care. “Anthony and I - we’re treading lightly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry to hear it,” it wasn’t an apology. It was fake commiseration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No you aren’t. You’re deflecting. Don’t try to tell me that you didn’t throw the vase. Don’t try to tell me you’re sorry for Anthony and I. I want you to apologize, you little jerk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what if I don’t? You’ll threaten me? That wouldn’t be very friendly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Maybe not,” he said carefully. “But it would be fair. It would be right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t know you cared about what’s right,” the boy retorted. Aziraphale frowned. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You and Anthony. That enough should answer your question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale could have slapped him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Instead, he folded his hands and bit his tongue. “I forgive you,” he said quietly. “But if Anna doesn’t, don’t be surprised.” He turned and walked out the door. Before he could catch his breath, or even think, he walked straight in Julia Maesa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry,” he muttered, not even daring to look her in the eye. He felt disoriented. Too much had happened in one day. “Excuse me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He hurried away from her icy stare - he heard her say something, but he didn’t want to stick around to understand it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stumbled down the halls until he reached the bedroom, pushing the door open, collapsing into the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> For a while, he just lay there. And then he finally noticed that Anthony wasn’t there, so he let sleep come, and it comforted him more than words ever could. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey guys! happy early thanksgiving to all my Americans 🦃 we are getting closer to the end so i want to say thank you for all the support!! you guys keep me going everyday. </p><p>much love! <br/>❤️ Dia</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Oh Well</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/B8KI1HU_2Tg</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p><p>I really adored this album growing up, but now my tastes have changed and it’s become a close third. (I really love FTBC and Idler Wheel!) What do you think?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Hours later, Anthony stumbled into his bedroom. The room was unusually dark; no candles had been lit. It was quiet, too, too quiet for his liking. And then again he almost appreciated it. He’d been yelled at by Titus, Comazon, his mother, his grandmother, and a delegate from China who was angry about something or other for six hours. He really hadn’t been listening. Besides, the job wasn’t his anymore. He was just a placeholder for the time being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked over to the bed, stopped, frowned, then took a step back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “‘Zira?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A muffled noise came from under the thick blankets. In the dark, he fumbled for a candle, anything for light. “Tinder, flint...where the bloody hell is it?” He finally found it, wrapped with a ribbon. He struck them, and finally after a moment or two sparks flew, then light. He lit a candle, and there saw the bed, wherein a small lump had formed under the covers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked over to the bed, candle in hand, setting it on the table next to it. Gently, he touched the blankets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The lump moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And made a sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why’re you sleeping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The blankets suddenly revealed a human. There lay Aziraphale, his once bright blue eyes had been diminished to droplets of grey around the pupil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel, are you alright?” He sat down at the edge of the bed. Slowly he lifted a finger and pressed it against the blondes cheek. “Fuck, you’re cold as the Tiber! What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve been out,” he murmured. “Walking the grounds, the halls, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What - at this hour? Why? Have you gone mad? No, you don’t have a fever...did you drink too much? Is that it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he whispered, clutching his hand. “I was thinking...no, worried about Faustina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Faustina?” Anthony wrinkled his nose. “Why?” He bit his lip. “Do you like her? Is’sat it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course not, you knob,” Aziraphale muttered, rubbing his temples. “El-Gabal, Oh Somebody, I have a headache…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel, what’s wrong with Faustina?” He prompted, tempted to curl his finger around a lock that had fallen across his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, it was the damn vase...that moron...if he hadn’t thrown it at her I’m sure it would have been a little statue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Vase...wait. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>threw</span>
  </em>
  <span> a </span>
  <em>
    <span>vase</span>
  </em>
  <span> at her? Who threw a vase at Anna?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alexander,” he said, and yawned. “I do hope Balbina has been able to stay awake. I’m so terribly tired from keeping her up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re joking,” he said, staring at him in awe. “You must be. Why would you say a thing like that, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not joking, Anthony,” he spat, rolling onto his side. “I just want to sleep for a moment, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s it,” he muttered. Standing, he blew out the candle and ran out of the room. He was tired, sure, but not so much now that he wanted to sleep the week away. Rather, he was the opposite, for he was ready to strike Alexander down - if what Aziraphale had said was true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned the hall, pushed down the door to the throne room. No one there. Well, he knew where to go next. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like family,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, and kicked the door to his grandmother's office open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There, at the head of the table, sat his grandmother. Besides her Alexander stood, looking rather proud of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where is my mother?” He asked angrily, walking towards the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Out?! Where?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> No response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well- what- alright, fine. I don’t need her for this: I demand that you do something about Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You do?” She laid a hand on her chest. Mocking surprise. “Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I don’t know! Just get him out of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I see,” she smiled, and whispered something to Alexander. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “Alright, leave my little boy.” Her hands waved, and he left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What else,” she thought aloud. In one quick turn, she waved her hands, dismissing all the guards behind her. “Leave us alone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>As they exited, one stopped and spat at Anthony’s feet. His mouth fell open for a minute, watching as the others filed out nonchalantly. As if nothing had happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Did you see that?” He asked incredulously, pointing to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t see anything,” she replied coolly. He frowned. Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the one going mad. It must have been his imagination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look, um, now that we’re alone, I think I can safely say this to you. Alexander isn’t a good person, grandmother. He has been callous to myself and my friends, and now I have heard word that Anna has been hurt. He threw a </span>
  <em>
    <span>vase</span>
  </em>
  <span> at her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You have heard word, but you don’t know if it is truth? These are bold claims to make, boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, but you must understand that it is truth. Aziraphale told me - and he never lies. Alexander has practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>replaced</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Julia Maesa smiled. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I see. So if you believe this is so, what is the purpose of having you around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I-I don’t know. I just feel like that’s true. Maybe there is no purpose…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t be weak, Anthony,” his grandmother said sharply, standing up to meet him. “You cannot be weak now. The people need you to be strong. They want less of you - but we can’t have that, can we? Not when you’re meant to continue our family line. You’re blaming Alexander for the problems you have created. Is that how your mother raised you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-no, she didn’t. But grandmother, it’s more complicated than that - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> my friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Your friend? I thought it was Lady Faustina that was hurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It was - is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His grandmother frowned. “You should refer to her as your wife, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wife. Right. Look, thanks for...the help. I think I’ll go talk to Comazon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You do that,” she said, and he knew it was alright to leave because she wasn’t paying attention anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span> He found himself walking through the darkness, through the gates of the garden, until he’d reached the edge of a starry field.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> In the West, he could see men performing. Training. It was the military camp, and in the moonlight he could tell Comazon was there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He ran until he stumbled onto the ground. He heard the call of the men and pulled himself to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stared and saw Comazon jogging forward. They met in the middle, just feet apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “All of you,” he started, his voice low, ignoring Comazon, “must do something about that little bastard cousin of mine. I’ve had enough of him. I don’t care what you do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just get him out of here.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> The men did nothing. Some walked away and went to their canvas tents, others continued exercising and talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He watched as they continued to live. He felt as though he was losing his. Losing it to a boy - that was his family - that didn’t even care for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, what is it that you need?” Comazon asked gently, and seemed to hesitate before holding out his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Were you even listening?” He snapped, jerking his hand away. “I want you to do something about my cousin. And I want it to happen </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Well, what do you want me to do?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know! Just...keep him out of my sight. Do whatever you can to make sure he doesn’t hurt my family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “You surely don’t mean that, do you?” Comazon asked severely, following him as he stormed away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m dead serious,” and he kept walking, leaving Comazon behind. “Oh, and keep an eye on him, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll do that,” Comazon said, but his voice sounded wary. It made Anthony pleased with himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Like he’d gotten away with murder. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoy! At the moment, we’re in the home stretch...if I’m able, there’s a chance we’ll be done by late December! </p><p>I have so enjoyed this journey with all of you. You guys have totally made high school (and life itself) way more bearable! Thank you so much ❤️ </p><p>So many of the characters in this story were real people. Comazon was a real person as well: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Publius_Valerius_Comazon?wprov=sfti1</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. Ladies (III)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/n46e8m2pOAw</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p><p>I hope you enjoy this chapter!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Early the next morning Aziraphale awoke and found Anthony’s spot in the bed empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He got dressed as usual, but felt something was amiss...something had happened the night before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> His eyes were drawn to the looking glass on the large marble vanity. There, where the washbasin sat atop, were rags stained red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He approached it carefully and examined them, then dropped them in horror when realization hit. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Anna,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, sinking onto the stool. For a minute, he contemplated visiting her. But it would be too risky; he remembered hiding her in Balbina’s room, and running, and then Alexander. Just a year ago, when things were different - better - they could have taken her to a nurse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander would not have been there to hurt anyone. But now he couldn’t change things. And if Anna were to die…</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He couldn’t bear the thought of it, so he stood and walked to the gardens. He sat for an hour or so, until the sun rose, watching as visitors walked through admiring the vast rows of squash and plums and barley. The rose patch by the walls. The marigolds and the crocuses. Tended to by Anthony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And yet none of them knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have you heard about the little performance the emperor put on this morning?” A woman asked another. They were nobles for sure. Aziraphale felt his mouth twitch slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I haven’t,” the other replied. They began walking down the aisle along where he sat. They laughed as they spoke - laughing over Anthony. Suddenly, they stopped and stared at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you the rebel slave from Caria?” The first woman asked. Aziraphale blinked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well. Um. I’m hardly a rebel,” he joked. He still felt rather upset about them talking about his boyfriend - the man he called his husband - but he decided to let it slide. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Little performance, eh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, plastering a smile onto his face. “I am-was a slave, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, too bad,” the other woman said, waving her fan obnoxiously. “We thought you were the sweet blonde that tempted the emperor.” They both began to giggle, and he chuckled slightly, though he was getting a bit annoyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose I am, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They admired him for a moment before the first woman began to speak. “How much have you earned?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The other nodded, then asked: “Is the sex any good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blushed. “Er - none, but I am living with him...so...clothes, maybe? Though I’m not too particular about them as he is. And um...is that necessary to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, well, I suppose not,” the second said, actually seeming rather disappointed. “We were hoping you were going to share.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah,” he said. Then he smiled, again, and asked very politely: “what little performance were you speaking of, again?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You haven’t heard?” First asked, surprised. He shook his head, confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s actually so exciting,” second began, before getting punched in the arm by First. “Let me, Sybil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He went out to the military camps early in the morning - in the dark- and he said he wanted them to murder his cousin! Murder! Alexander! Can you believe it? He’s only a boy. Well, my husband is training there and overheard the whole thing. He told me and some of the other girls in the city while we were at a restaurant-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m terribly sorry,” he said quickly, standing up from the bench. “But I have to go. Er. Goodbye.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He ran back inside, checking the ballroom. No Anthony. He checked the kitchen. Only blank stares. He avoided the library. Then he gave up and ran to their bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stopped at the door and turned. There Anthony stood, holding a rose and a jug of something dark. Wine, probably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Anthony, you’re alright,” he gasped, leaning into him. “I was so worried-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why?” He asked, pushing the door open, letting them inside. Aziraphale looked at him in awe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why?! What do you mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why?!</span>
  </em>
  <span> You wanted to have Alexander murdered, for somebody’s sake! Why wouldn’t I be worried?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Murdered? I never said murder. I mean. It probably came off that way, in the moment.” They said nothing for a minute. “Wait. How did you find out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Some woman just told me,” he breathed, collapsing onto the bed. “I can’t believe you. If we had just let the whole thing blow over instead of threatening to have him killed it would all be alright…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wha-Aziraphale, he hurt Anna!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you think I don’t know that? I know, I know! I’m just saying that maybe if you had waited instead of throwing death threats around, we could have resolved things peacefully. I know I tried to go about that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Peacefully? How can we go about things peacefully when he threw a vase at a girl for no fucking reason? He literally had no reason to hurt her and yet he did it anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, maybe he didn’t understand. He’s a boy, Anthony. Boys do things like that, I suppose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Like throwing vases? I sure as hell didn’t do that! What the fuck are you on about, Aziraphale?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know!” He shouted, sitting ramrod straight. “I don’t know...I just wanted this to...I just wanted to pretend-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can’t,” Anthony said, sitting next to him. “You can’t pretend it didn’t, not when someone gets injured. You have to face these things. It’s reality, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want to see her hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Look, nobody does. I don’t want Alexander to get murdered or anything. It probably just came off the wrong way. Heat of the moment, or whatever. But he deserves to get punished. Do you think I want that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, come on, angel,” his amber eyes pleaded with him. The thin pupils had dilated. “You know I...I’m not up for hurting kids. But what’s done is done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So you do want him dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. I want him to face the consequences. I’m not evil. Just...human.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Humans can be evil,” Aziraphale said coldly. “I wish you would have talked to me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What, about the camp? You know you were angry too. I mean - you know better than anyone - this is your thing, isn’t it? Righting wrongs and all that morally good stuff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale pursed his lips. “It’s not that I’m a better person, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know. Sorry.” Aziraphale could see that he meant it. His shoulders sagged. He wished Anthony would hug him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just...I can’t bear to see another person get hurt. You know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” Anthony wrapped his fingers around his. It was good enough for the time being. “I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This concludes the ‘Ladies’ trilogy of chapters. I have utilized trilogies for this work because certain chapters held similar themes. Ladies is such a powerful song, (such is the case with Relay and Werewolf) that I felt the need to use it more than once. </p><p>Thank you for reading! ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Rack Of His/Every Single Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Double Upload! These two chapters are both a bit short (I apologize) so I thought I’d combine them to make it a bit easier for the both of us. </p><p>Here are the song links for these chapters:</p><p>https://youtu.be/RYIkFmoLREc (Rack of His - I like this one because the tone is playful but sort of revengeful!)</p><p>https://youtu.be/bIlLq4BqGdg (Every Single Night - I included the music video. It’s a bit uncanny but I think it’s a lot of fun (though the meaning of the song itself isn’t...)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> The next morning, both men heard a knock on their door. Aziraphale, already awake, shook Anthony until he rolled out of bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stumbled to the door, pushed it open. Valeria stood there, a guard besides her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lord, your prescence has been requested. It has been asked that you are to come to the meeting room at once.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Great, can I have a second?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Valeria shared a glance with the guard. Then him. “Make it quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thanks.” He shut the door in the face, then turned to Aziraphale, who was sitting upright, expectant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have to go meet with someone, or something,” he offered, walking over to the washbasin. He splashed water in his face until he wondered if he would drown. It was a stupid thing to think. But it distracted him from everything else on his mind. He looked to Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stayed silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry, dear, I was thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right. So. I’ll be off then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Stay safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. He wished he could leap into bed and kiss him a hundred times. Instead, he found himself following Valeria and a guard. In that moment, he reminded himself of Caesar. The great Julius, as they call him. The thought of his own assassination had crossed his mind before. He wondered if this would be it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>No, they wouldn’t,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he told himself as he followed them to the meeting room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But they’re ushering me into a room. Am I going in alone? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He watched as they stopped, gesturing with their hands for him to enter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They waited still; his knees buckled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I have too. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Valeria. You may leave,” Comazon ordered. She nodded, leaving promptly. Anthony watched as guards filed out, until he was left with his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So,” he began, taking a seat on a bench in the corner. “What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s up?” Comazon repeated, walking towards him. “What am I supposed to do, Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “About what? I don’t know!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know what. The orders you gave me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right, right,” he said hoarsely. “About that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You better tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do. I have one hundred men on standby willing to make a move. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span> move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony gulped. He’d listened to Aziraphale. He knew what to do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t go the violent way.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Don’t go through with it,” he muttered, standing up. He walked out of the room, his voice tight. “I’ll do it myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stumbled into his room, where Aziraphale and Faustina stood arguing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, you shouldn’t wear it, it’s a-” Aziraphale had started to say, but stopped when he saw Anthony. “Oh, hello, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He didn’t respond. He reached for a wooden chest; as he unlocked it, he reached for a vial greedily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, do you think I-” Anna began, but she too stopped short. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stood, vial in hand, shaking. “Stay here. Both of you.” His eyes didn’t leave her arm, which was bandaged tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned and walked out. He wasn’t a violent person. He had listened to Aziraphale. But he was a person that believed in justice. Even though he knew the world wasn’t just. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He approached Alexander’s door, the door to his throne room, but guards had it surrounded. They wouldn’t let him through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I need to get in,” he ordered. They didn’t move. He repeated himself.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “I said,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I need to get in.” He pushed himself into the door, but the men pushed him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can’t do this,” he cried, kicking wildly. They shoved him to the ground. The door opened, Alexander standing there. Proud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He wrestled to get up, but one of the men had him pinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander watched, laughed, a hand holding a jug of something. Wine, probably. He tossed it at the wall by his head, the jug coming close to hitting his head. Wine spilled onto the floor like fresh blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Didn't your father drink, Antoninus?” His cousin asked, smirking. He struggled to get up, but he felt his arms twist behind his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You...are a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>basssstard,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he groaned, another guard pulling on his hair. It was long now. He’d. Spent ages growing it out. He let out a sharp cry as a strand fell to the floor. “One day, you’ll regret </span>
  <em>
    <span>thisss.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “How can I,” Alexander murmured, kneeling to the floor, his hands searching for the lock, “when my opponent is just the same?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am nothing like you,” he gasped, his head, his entire body throbbing. “Don’t even think about comparing us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You can let him go,” Alexander addressed the guards, waving his hand. Then he looked down at him. He looked so young. “Really? And I thought we were bound by blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony rose from the floor, his knees buckling again. “We are bound only by name now.” He composed himself, then began to walk back to the room, defeated and tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before he walked inside, his felt his deep pockets. He froze in fear. His hands grew clammy and cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The vial wasn’t there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He decided to forget about it. But later that night, the thought stayed with him, and it didn’t leave until he knew the vial was gone for good. <br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale didn’t have to wait long for Anthony. He didn’t exactly understand where he’d gone; he’d just walked in and...left. Without saying anything other than a few choice words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They echoed in his brain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He had never sounded so cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Mid-afternoon, he walked in, his whole body in a sinuous sort of slump. His hair was much shorter - it had been cut to the nape of his neck. He was wearing his sunglasses; when had he returned to get them? It dawned on Aziraphale that he’d been out - but he looked awful. There was a gash by his collarbone. His face was pale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where were you?” He asked, watching him approach the bed. He sat on the settee opposite, noticing how he fell into it. Exhausted. That’s what he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Here. Then out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I knew you’d been out, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>where,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anthony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I had to buy sunglasses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You have a perfectly good pair in here,” he gestured to the nightstand. Anthony shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I couldn’t come back here, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever do you mean, my boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My eyesss,” he hissed, sitting up straight. He lowered the glasses from his face. Aziraphale stood to peer at him, then gasped. “Anthony - you-you look awful!” His eyes had always looked a little different - the pupils thin as a snakes. But now there was a swelling around one of them that hadn’t been there before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What happened to you?” He whispered, crawling onto the bed. He reached out to touch him, but he flinched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t want you to notice,” he whispered. “They tore my hair. So I had to cut it off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Tore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sort of?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What - who did this? When did-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I had a plan,” he said sorely, stretching out. His bones cracked as he did so. He sounded old and weary. “A vial. I was going to...er...poison Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not like it worked,” he sat up again sharply, wincing. His hands reached for his side. “Guards got me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You mean they hurt you? Did they see you do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes - No. They didn’t see, I mean. I just went up to the door. They wouldn’t let me in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale might have laughed, but the situation was all too serious. “You aren’t very good at being evil, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Shut up,” he muttered, then let out a yelp, clutching his side again. “It hurts, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I’m sorry dear,” he said, taking him in his arms, careful not to touch the side where it hurt. “What did they do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nothing I haven’t faced before. Well. I hadn’t faced </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I was competing at the Circus Maximus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well?” Aziraphale asked, impatiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They kicked me,” he answered tepidly, relaxing in his arms, “pushed me around a bit. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, you need to be more careful,” he chided, though his voice was tender now. “I told you - we shan’t poke the beast. Alexander can never pull us apart, yes - but he can hurt you. I...I couldn’t live with that, knowing you died. You know how I feel about the violence”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know. I’m sorry. Actually, no, I’m not, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale bit his lip. “I don’t want you to apologize if you don’t mean it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do. I...I care about you. If you don’t want me to do any more, I won’t. Not unless I’m forced to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale beamed. He planted kisses on his cheek. “Thank you, dearest. You are so sweet, so lovely-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, shut up,” he groaned, trying to escape the blonde's arms but failing. He made a little noise, acknowledging he was trapped. “M’not!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You are, and I’m so happy you aren’t so cruel as all the others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mmph.” A short pause elapsed before he spoke.  “Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know where the vial is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale loosened his hold on him. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The vial that I was going to use for Alexander. What if he has it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Then he has it and we hope nothing comes of it. No use in going around looking for it. Besides, we don’t eat with him. You’ll just have to stick with me, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him again, soothing the spots where he was hurting. “We’ll be okay, darling. We’ll make it out just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale nodded. “I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hope you enjoy xo<br/>-dia</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. Dull Tool</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This has got to be my favorite FA song! (Or...at least in the top three? I love pretty much all of her music haha)</p><p> </p><p>https://youtu.be/Z7nekCeeRyg</p><p>^ the song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They woke to the sounds of horns rising their stout beaks. The sun meanwhile, had not. It was early. Aziraphale was shaking Anthony. He tossed and turned in their bed and made a loud groaning noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” Aziraphale kept repeating his name. “Wake up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> He sat up, rubbing his eyes, the room around him unfolding itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “What.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“There’s so much noise outside - a crowd, and just now - don’t you hear that? The horns?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nnnhg….yeah. I hear it. Now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, shouldn’t you go check?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What, why can’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because you’re the one that checks. I don’t check. When do I go and check?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know. Never?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So go look!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, alright,” and so he stumbled out of bed and peered out the large pane of glass by the desk and divan. Indeed, there was a crowd. A man was handling the horn, the noise of it bleeding into their room. “I need clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, pull on a chiton. I’m sure it’s nothing, just go and look and come right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Will you come with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale paused. “Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They dressed in what would have been silence, if it were not for the noise outside. Then they walked out, hand in hand; Anthony smoothed over Aziraphale’s hand to soothe it, rubbing circles into his palm. But he still looked scared. Worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then they walked outside, to the front of the palace; there was the crowd, proud and cheering on someone in the middle. Anthony held his breath, then craned his neck. It was Alexander.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, you’re up, cousin,” he said, motioning him forward. “We’ve been expecting you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And for what?” He snapped, letting go of Aziraphale. “What are you all here for? To hurl your insults?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh no, much better,” a woman from the crowd cackled. “A fight, it’s a fight! We are most excited!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A fight?” Anthony cocked his brow. “Really. I didn’t think you would have the valor, Alexander.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have much more than you know,” the boy snarled. “Come along. We’re going to the amphitheater. There we shall duel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A duel?” He sputtered, almost choking on nothing. He turned to Aziraphale, who held his head in his hands. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Your threats towards me. It’s all fair, of course,” the boy offered. Anthony frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s at stake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander cocked a smile. “The throne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’d smite you if I could.” He felt his lisp coming on, but not his tongue. He would not be made a fool in front of the public of Rome. He would not go down today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And I would let you, for I am a far better man. I am honorable. What are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am more man and woman than you will ever be, you little brat,” he snapped. “And I have what you do not - someone that truly loves me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander twitched for a moment before waving his hand. “Come, let us walk to the theatre. There we may begin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> So they mounted their horses - Anthony and Aziraphale on Snapdragon, Alexander on Tulip, while the crowd were left to file behind. They arrived quickly, for the theatre was built for Julia Maesa and therefore was in close distance to the palace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They dismounted, watching as the crowd took their seats just a few feet away; and then, Alexander approached him, ordering Aziraphale to sit with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shook his head. “Go, angel. You could get hurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Reluctantly, Aziraphale nodded, and took to sitting near the servants, though it was obvious he wasn’t welcome there. Luckily, Cassia smiled at him, so Anthony knew he wasn’t alone. If anything were to happen, Gabal forbid… he would have someone to turn to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He shuddered at the thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> In the crowd, he noticed his mother, and his grandmother; there were officials from the government too, probably checking that it was fair. Balbina was nowhere to be seen. He hoped that she was alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Everyone seemed to know except for him, her and Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you ready, cousin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned to Alexander, nodded. A man from the Guard approached them, holding two knives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, silence!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The theatre did not silence. The man made a signal, and a horn was blown. It was then that the noise died down, and he addressed the boys:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You are to walk twenty paces. Then you are to throw these knives. Whoever can cut through the skin of the other wins. If you are to both miss, then we will throw again. Are the rules clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” Anthony said feebly, and in a daze accepted his knife. He saw that the groove of Alexander’s knife was much sharper, then felt the blade of his own. It was dull; the handle of it was worn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man who had given them the knives made another motion with his hand, and the horn was blown; they began to walk. On the twentieth step, they were ordered to stop, and did so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony felt sweat stick to his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Turn!” The man shouted. They did so. Alexander looked smug. Before </span>
  <em>
    <span>throw</span>
  </em>
  <span> could stumble out of the man’s mouth, Alexander had raised his arm. The word was out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Instinctively; Anthony ducked. He heard a gasp from the crowd and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwap</span>
  </em>
  <span> noise. Blinking, he stood and turned. Alexander’s knife had come close to the servants, almost hitting Cicero’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Instantly, whispers could be heard from the seats. Anthony felt the knife drop from his hands. He saw Alexander stomp towards him. He was angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I ought to have you slaughtered for your cowardice!” He shrieked, flailing wildly. Anthony rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It was unfair,” he began, but Julia Maesa was running towards them, fast. “Everyone, clear out!” She yelled, waving her arms just as Alexander had done. “Guards, guards!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The guards obeyed; the crowd was asked to leave, and Anthony watched as Aziraphale turned to flash him a proud smile. He felt his heart yearn a little, but he pushed it into a corner of his chest that he could not reach. He could not think of him now. He’d just done the unthinkable. He was in trouble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” said his grandmother, her eyes with that intense look she gave him when he did something like this. “You have done the unthinkable,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t I know it, he thought, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“and it pains me to ask this of you - but I must demand it for your actions have caused us great pain. Leave my sight. Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He didn’t move for a minute. He was stuck to the unfrozen ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Move!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He did so, not even saying goodbye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned, hoping she’d have an apology ready. Maybe take back what she’d said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, no, I didn’t mean it, it was the heat of the moment. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Get Aziraphale, too, while you’re at it. I don’t want to see you two tonight, together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded dumbly. He always had too much faith in people. And look where it had got him. By the time he and Aziraphale had reached their room, he had a plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Meet me at the stables. Tomorrow, after the sun goes down.” And then he left him, for it was too painful to watch his eyes full of fear, darting around the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They were safe, but only for the time being. After that, Anthony didn’t want to find out. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hope you liked it :)</p><p>❤️ Dia</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. Everyday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fun fact! you guys might know this if you’ve read the book or keep up on lore, but everyday was meant to be featured in the show (as it was in the book and the script) but never made it. Fiona’s cover is really pretty and I think it fits well here.</p><p>Hope you enjoy xx</p><p>https://youtu.be/ZUIbwC3uk_o</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> “Anthony,” Aziraphale called out his name again and again, stumbling around the whole of the stables.  After the frankly embarrassing scene at the theatre, he’d told him to meet him at the stables. After that, he’d left him, and didn’t return that night. </p><p> He hadn’t seen him since then. It was beginning to worry him, but then again he was always worried. </p><p> “In the stall with Snapdragon,” he heard someone - Anthony - hiss. He hurried inside and saw him sitting there, in the dirty little pen with his horse.</p><p> “Oh, get out of there,” he muttered, and he did so; they found themselves watching one another, and for the first time in quite a while it was awkward. “Are you alright?”</p><p> “What kind of question is that? Of course I’m alright. You didn’t see me get hit, did you?”</p><p> “You know what I meant,” he said quietly. Anthony nodded before peering behind him. “Did you check?”</p><p> “Hm?”</p><p> “Sorry. I mean - er - did you see anybody? It sounds stupid now, because you’re here and all, but...never hurts to check.”</p><p> “You’re going mad,” he said, laughing weakly. He saw the grave look on the others face, so he composed himself. “No, I didn’t.”</p><p> Anthony let out a shaky breath. “Good. Good. Listen - I had to get away last night, to do some thinking.”</p><p> “And?”</p><p> “I think we should run away, for real.”</p><p> “What?” Aziraphale felt that the floor was being dragged from underneath his feet. “Why? When? I mean - we can’t - what about the others? Balbina, and Anna?”</p><p> “They‘ll...they’ll manage. Anna can look out for Balbina-”</p><p> “Not if you’re not there. They’ll put her out.”</p><p> “No they won’t,” Anthony said sharply. “Listen to me, Aziraphale. Alexander will take the throne and marry Anna.”</p><p> “You’re joking.”</p><p> “I’m not. This is the safest plan I’ve come up with. Trust me, we will be fine.”</p><p> Aziraphale looked to the floor. “What about me?” He felt guilty for asking. He didn’t go around asking about himself. He wasn’t supposed to. He felt like a spoiled child, selfish and ignorant.</p><p> Anthony lifted a finger to his cheek, then pulled away. “I thought I told you we would be fine.” </p><p> “But that’s not good enough. Oh, yes, we’ll be fine, but that’s you, not me. I’m not of noble blood as you are, Anthony-”</p><p> “Don’t you dare start on blood lines now-”</p><p> “Let me finish!”</p><p> “Alright, alright! For fucks sake!”</p><p> Aziraphale rubbed his temples. He knew they hadn’t meant to get upset. It still burned. “I’m just a slave, Anthony. I just...I worry you’ll tire of me. That we’ll leave here and what we have now will be left with it. Do you understand?”</p><p> “I do, angel,” he offered his hand, and he took it, and they walked to the gardens. “But know I will never tire of you. I waited for you, and I still wait, but now it’s better because I can wait with you. When we get there, we will be together the way we’ve always dreamt.”</p><p> Aziraphale’s eyes felt a little wet. He swallowed, nodded, and let go to wipe away tears he hadn’t recognized. </p><p> “I’m sorry,” Anthony offered. “It’s hard, I know...but I can’t...we can’t stay here. It isn’t safe. You know that, you saw what Alexander did to Anna-</p><p> “Which is why I don’t think we should leave her here.”</p><p> “We’ll figure it out - I’ll figure it out, and then we can leave. Okay?”</p><p> He felt comforted by this, so he nodded. “Okay.”</p><p> “It’s settled, then. We’ll have to go after the Kalends, of course.”</p><p> “The Kalends? What - after the year? Anthony, that’s...that’s a while away. It’s not even the end of this one!”</p><p> “I know, I know, but we need time.”</p><p> Aziraphale cocked a brow. “I thought you said we had to get out of here.”</p><p> Anthony nodded, impatient. He looked like he’d expected this, but wished it hadn’t been done. “Yeah.  But the time - we can’t just pack up and go. We have to pack up and go with backup plans. We need to know how to go, what to pack, what to do if something goes wrong. I’m serious, Aziraphale. And I’m serious about leaving.”</p><p> “We don’t even observe the festivals,” he muttered, noting the glint in Anthony’s eyes. “Is that part of it? Your plan?”</p><p> “A bit. We won’t be able to leave the city during most of them - it sounds perfect - I thought of this - but think about it; they block everything off. We’d be trapped. Have to figure out some elaborate plan to haul ourselves out of here. I say we wait until after they’re over to leave.”</p><p> “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”</p><p> “And you can think that.”</p><p> Aziraphale’s shoulders sagged. “We’ll have to leave February or March.”</p><p> Anthony suddenly brightened. “Are you-”</p><p> “I’m not saying I want to leave,” he said shortly. “I’m just suggesting. That’s all I’m doing.” </p><p> “You know, that would be a good time. No one here cares about Vediovis.”</p><p> “That’s true...but...but what about the middle of March? Don’t people celebrate then, too?” </p><p> Anthony thought about this, then, as if a light had come on, he nodded, brightening. “That’s right - Mamuralia.”</p><p> “I suppose,” Aziraphale said, eyeing the other carefully, “that if I were to go with you, then I would rather you go early March. So as to avoid the festivities. It would make for a clean escape.”</p><p> “It would,” Anthony said quietly. “And you wouldn’t change your mind, would you?”</p><p> Aziraphale waited, taking careful stock of this. If the idea of leaving what he had grown to love. But his love for Anthony was far greater.</p><p> “What you said, was that true? About Anna and the marriage? That you’d figure it out?”</p><p> “...yeah, angel. I’ll take care of it.”</p><p> “I want to take care of it with you,” he said, too quickly, wishing to reach out and touch him. “I can help. And-and when we leave...where were you thinking of going?”</p><p> “I was thinking of Britannia.”</p><p> “Britannia! Isn’t that a terrible place, with all the invasions?”</p><p> “No, no, not with our hold on it.”</p><p> After a moment of silence, Aziraphale broke it. </p><p> “Do you think it’s terrible, that we invaded it? I mean, of course, we didn’t invade it. I know my sort didn’t. And you…”</p><p> “I don’t know what I am,” Anthony said quietly, casting a glance at Snapdragon, who’d dozed off, “but I know it wasn’t right. Even if I’m Roman, though, I’m not going to feel guilty now. My people didn’t do it.”</p><p> “Well, surely they didn’t do it, but isn’t it awful?”</p><p> “Of course it’s awful.”</p><p> “Well then, why don’t you feel sorry?”</p><p> “It’s not my place to feel sorry. The men, their line, the ones who invaded and pillaged that place are to feel sorry. The families that lost their livelihoods are to feel sorry. Right now, we are to ignore it. We’re going to live there, angel, you and I. We’ll assimilate, do whatever it takes - and you listen: don’t waste time worrying about it. Do you understand?”</p><p> “Why are you so upset?” He demanded, suddenly upset. It was mostly with the way Anthony was acting - childish, no doubt - but it was also for himself, partly for letting himself get too close to-</p><p> No. </p><p> He would not regret the love he felt for him. Things had been so good; they would make it through this space of splotchy, messy time, this period of agony, whatever Anthony called it. </p><p> “I’m upset because I’m worried, alright?” Anthony grabbed him by the shoulders, but did not dare press himself into him as he had done before. </p><p> Aziraphale let his arms loosen in his hold.</p><p> “Why?”</p><p> “I-I...I don’t want you to get mixed up in anything. I don’t want to..to take sides. If we take sides, if you begin to...I don’t know... going out and helping someone when we leave - like smuggling in Balbina, across the border - or, or campaigning about goodness and charity and all the other things you like to do when we get there - you’d get yourself hurt.”</p><p> Aziraphale pulled away. </p><p> “I can’t believe you.”</p><p> Anthony’s eyes widened. “What?”</p><p> “I can’t...am I hearing you correctly?”</p><p> “I should hope so,” the other teased, but he wasn’t in the mood. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> “Are you mad? Do you want me to stay silent, and do nothing when other people are suffering? And what kind of assumption is that, to say that I would smuggle Balbina in? Do you really think that if you asked me to go, that I would do that, like smuggling in a person during an escape?”</p><p> “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Anthony mumbled. “You’re a better person than I am.”</p><p> Aziraphale sighed and rubbed his eyes. “No, I’m not. You think I’m perfect, don’t you?”</p><p> “A little,” he admitted.</p><p> “I’m not. And as much as I may care about people, I was never and will never be good enough to even consider doing something like that during a time like...if we were to. You know.”</p><p> “Do you think I’m crazy?”</p><p> “No. I think you’re paranoid,” Aziraphale said, a tremor in his voice that admitted he was too. “Look at you. You’re pacing around.”</p><p> He was. Anthony didn’t say anything. His eyes darted around for a few seconds before stooping to the floor. </p><p> “When we get there, I’ll stay quiet. But that doesn’t mean I won’t help people if they need it.”</p><p> “Do you promise not to do anything that’ll bring notice?”</p><p> Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I promise.”</p><p> “Come on,” he whispered, reaching for his hand. Reluctantly, he took it. “Let’s go. I’m sure a cook will make you a cup of calda, and then you could sleep, hm?”</p><p> “Right,” Anthony said, locking his fingers around his, but he wasn’t paying attention. “Yeah. S’nice.”</p><p> Aziraphale could see that something was off. Something had died in him, and now fear was growing, and not even himself could stop it. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’ll probably be uploading a TON more (like every couple days...) because... I’m on break! Although I’m grateful my exams have been cancelled as it’s usually a very stressful period, it came at such a high cost that I don’t feel happy celebrating. You guys make these days much easier. Thank you. </p><p>I’m also so very happy that I’ve been able to share this time with you all and I want everyone to have a fantastic holiday season. This year has been insane. Let’s end it right, shall we? STAY SAFE AND SEND PEACE AND LOVE ❤️ ✌️ We got this, guys!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. Window</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/7ftQv5RQJH0</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Weeks later, when she had finally healed, it was decided that Anna was to have guests. A private epulum was in order, and all of Anna’s friends were to be invited. When the day came, Balbina emerged from her room excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony watched her, noticing something had changed in her air. Her appearance too, had changed; she was wearing a deep blue palla, one he had never seen before, and her face was shiny from some sort of oil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What are you so happy about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, nothing,” she said, cheerfully. “Well. It is something - I’ve been invited to the party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anna is to disguise me as a noblewoman. No one shall suspect that I’m a slave or an escapee - she’s even made up a backstory. And I do look so healthful now, thanks to you and Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shook his head. “I don’t like this. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina faltered. “I want to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You really shouldn’t. Trust me, s’not a good idea. There could be...I dunno...little holes in the story. People are going to notice you aren’t, well, what you say you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony? Are you ready?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned, saw Anna, and waved sheepishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um. Yeah. Just a second.” She smiled and joined them, looking bright as ever in a deep, purple tunic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, do come on. We can’t keep them waiting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want to hear it. Come on, the both of you. They’ve been waiting ten minutes, and I think we’re already out of boar and wine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony followed her down the hall to the ballroom, Balbina in tow. It was a sad procession. Aziraphale was nowhere to be seen, probably escorted to the library where he was told to stay quiet and read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When they entered the room, there was an array of women fanning themselves on a long couch that had not been there the day before. Anna pushed Balbina in front of her, displaying her like a new bracelet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This, ladies, is my good friend Gaia. She is so pretty, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve never met her,” a woman murmured. “But she is so well dressed! Hello, Gaia.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The sentiment was repeated from the rest of the group. Anna shot a smirk at Anthony, who blushed profusely, especially at the sight of so many people who were now staring at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Everyone, you all know Anthony, of course. Anthony, this is Lavinia, Valentina, Tullia, and Maria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello,” he said awkwardly. He took a seat at the edge of the couch, Balbina squeezed between Valentina and Tullia, while Anna stood talking rapidly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He is so handsome!” He heard one of them say - Lavinia, probably - and asked: “Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The women laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You, of course!” Anna said, a forced smile on her face. She poked him playfully, causing him to recoil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> After a few minutes of this, he stood up tiredly and joined Anna. Nobody said anything. Finally, he spoke, which was his first mistake; the words could not be stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want a divorce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The room hushed. He walked out, and as he did so he heard a rustling of voices, then the noise of someone quickly standing and running behind him. When he turned, out of sight, he saw that it was Balbina, her flushed face looking...angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What the hell are you doing?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want to sit there and lie about our relationship. It had to be said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Then? Did you have to say it then?! And besides, you allowed Anna to lie about being friends with me, and you lie about your sexuality all the time. But suddenly, the rules don’t apply to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stood there, surprised. “Er. I guess not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina didn’t say anything. It was up to him now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Give me a minute.” He walked back into the room, where the women were consoling Anna, sharing worried looks, speaking in low tones. When they saw him, they shot him dirty glances. Tullia probably wanted to punch him. She probably could have, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh, that was a role that I wrote for myself. It’s for a play.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A role,” Maria said blankly, his words not sinking in. “So...that was a performance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Slowly, Anna raised her head from her hands. Her eyes were wet; she was embarrassed. He didn’t blame her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It was an awfully...unusual one,” Valentina was rubbing Anna’s shoulders; her eyes shot daggers at him. It was clear she wasn’t convinced yet. “I didn’t know you performed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Many people do not know much about me, madam,” he said quietly. “I have not performed in a while. Perhaps I ought to, now that I have shocked you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You really should,” Lavinia said, trying to ease the mood. “It was rather shocking, wasn’t it, girls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Quite,” Anna said coldly. “Would you excuse us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The girls did so, and Anna stood, dragging him out of the room as fast as she could without appearing upset. When the doors closed behind them, Anna saw Balbina, and sighed. She glared at her, not saying a word - not even daring to until they were to be alone. Again, Anthony could not blame her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> This was for them and no one else to speak of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina took her cue and left, and Anthony silently prayed that she would take care to amend the tension in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, you-you...you are such a jerk!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Alright, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought miserably.</span>
  <em>
    <span> I deserve it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“What you did back there...that was ridiculous. It went against the-the normal propriety!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, it probably does. What I said - well, the first part of it - that was true. I do want a divorce. But when I went back, the performance...I was trying to fix things. You have to understand, I-when Balbina talked to me, I knew I was in the wrong. I knew I had to apologize - I couldn’t just leave you in there, with all those women, alone. Not after that. So...just lay it on me. I know I made a mistake. I’m sorry. At least now they’ll just think you married a weirdo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna’s mouth hung open for a second before she closed it; then she shut her eyes, and when they opened they were furious. It seemed he’d just made things worse. He felt the words of his grandmother sear into his brain a little further. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re no good at these kinds of things, Antoninus. You’re useless. You’re awkward. You’re bumbling. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Oh, so it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> that got you to apologize? I bet you don’t even feel sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony bit his tongue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He would not get angry at her for this. He’d just fucked everything up - he couldn’t worsen things further. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> No. She’d crossed the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “She</span>
  </em>
  <span> just opened my eyes. That’s all </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> did.” He didn’t push it. He didn’t swear at her. But the force behind his words carried them, and it caused Anna to stop, her own words seemingly playing back in her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When realization looked as though it had hit, he turned to walk away. She joined him, and when he saw her face her features had softened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She murmured a soft sorry, and they walked for a few minutes, the guests and the moment of anger behind them for a little while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you really care about me?” She asked, as Anthony stopped at a window by an El-Gabal shrine, a statue of his likeness there. He’d been here many times. Now things felt a little different. He thought about it - yes, he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But he didn’t love her like a wife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The marriage wasn’t for love. The only person he loved was Aziraphale, but he wasn’t there. He was with Anna, just Anna, a woman he was supposed to love...but didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But he reflected on that, and he knew he did love her, but not in the way he felt for Aziraphale. He loved her like a friend. Like a sister, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I like and respect you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> This wasn’t good enough. He knew it wouldn’t be, not for Anna, who, though knew that Anthony was not really in love with her, not in a romantic way, really </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> him to be. She wanted to present themselves like a perfect couple. She wanted to be in competition with the women in the ballroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re a no-good husband..lousy, lousy excuse of a man, that’s what you are…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned to her, just as she was on the brink of going on to say why he was so lousy, and asked this:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you really love me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She stopped yelling, stopped waving her arms, and considered this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I guess not. No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They watched each other for a few tepid moments, before the both of them laughed. It was freeing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, El-Gabal, it’s probably a good thing,” she said, leaning against the wall by the window. The light of the sun looked good against her face. It made Anthony forget that just a few minutes before she had been crying, then angry, now happy. At least, happier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He reached out for her hand, and she accepted. He offered her a small, rare smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ve been a better wife than I could have ever asked for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She smiled back. “I’m glad you don’t love me, actually. If you had, that would be terrible. I-I couldn’t bear knowing that you did, while coming to the realization that I didn’t. Or, you know, if you loved me and Aziraphale. It’s actually a very good thing that you love him. You have someone to fall back on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony planted a kiss on her hand. “You will always have this place, and my family will always accept you. But it’s better that you go...I’ve had too many wives, too many women that have had to force themselves into this position. And you know what? It’s best that they left. Because they can start anew, find true love. You’re a smart woman. You can do this...but if it doesn’t work out…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Say no more,” she said, lifting her hand away from his grip, dismissing the thought with a wave. “You won’t have to worry. This is for the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She turned to the window, and in silence they looked over the walls and the forest and the towns, the people, little dots on a map below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s quite beautiful out there. And the gardens are so verdant, too..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know, I’m proud. Though I do wish they’d grow better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anna laughed. Her eyes darted behind him to the shrine, then back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you think we should scare the plants?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony grinned. “Obviously. Then they would grow better!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They turned to the three vases that sat on the floor in front of the shrine, the statue of him looking on disapprovingly. They each grabbed one, the middle vase left alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We leave that one, okay? My mom likes it. I’d feel bad if we broke it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, sure,” she said giddily, balancing the small vase in one arm, the panel of glass in the other. When she had managed to lift it, Anthony locked it in place. They set the vases on the floor, shared a proud glance, then breathed in the fresh air. Anthony realized he had not been outside in weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He longed to see how his plants were doing. He hoped they were alright. But he stomped the feelings down until they were flattened; he’d been gone from here soon, and the plants would be left to die, and that was a fact he would have to face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maybe someone like Balbina could take care of them - but he knew that was pointless. Balbina didn’t have any feelings about them. She didn’t care, and that was why it would be insensible of him to leave them to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you see any people down there?” He asked, peering down below. She shook her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I think we’re good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The vases were dropped - they came down with a satisfying crash, breaking into a thousand pieces each. It was fantastic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “El-Gabal, that was cool.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You said it,” he murmured. “Oh, shit. We have to clean it, don’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We ought to. Hey, would it be alright if I took a piece?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He closed the window, looked at her, smiling, really smiling for the first time in a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He hesitated. Then he nodded. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was the best dinner party the palace had ever seen. There was no doubting that, and when the guests left, they saw the ground, a few scattered pieces of stained glass and ceramic littering it, glittering in the afternoon sun. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’ll probably update next on Christmas Eve/Christmas Day, but if I don’t (due to some crazy unforeseen event) I hope everyone has a lovely Christmas. </p><p>Dia ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. Extraordinary Machine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Extraordinary Machine - one of my favorite FA songs! </p><p>https://youtu.be/YsMZkCLxfkM</p><p>^chapter song^</p><p>Edit: just realized chapter three has the same title (Except for werewolf, relay, and ladies, this was unintentional. I apologize!)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> One day later, Aziraphale and Anthony watched as Anna left the palace. Aziraphale didn’t even protest when Anthony had told him. He understood; Anna had to leave, and that was the easiest way for it to be done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She looked happy, and that made them happy, because they knew that she would be better off for it. They walked back inside, hand in hand. Valeria and the guards were nowhere to be seen. It was a particularly quiet morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There, in the ballroom, Alexander lay, resting on the couch that Anna’s friends had left. Goblets and cups and plates sat on a mensa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello cousin,” Anthony said cordially. Alexander waved a hand. Then he sat up, and looked at them inquisitively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where’s the little bride of yours? I saw her walk out with the two of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale blushed. He hadn’t realized anyone had been watching them. After all, the rooms had appeared empty; and then he realized that he should have known. People are always watching. Always. Their eyes had followed them for years now - why should it be any different now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s left,” Anthony said. Alexander gasped. Then he stood. “What do you mean? She can’t have left, she’s just a woman! The empress - left! You can’t have done it - why did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It had to be done. Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “B-because it will ruin your reputation!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you mean Anthony’s, or yours?” Aziraphale asked. Alexander’s face grew stiff, his tone cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The family’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It isn’t my job to uphold everyone else’s reputations, though. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How can it be the right thing when everyone is unhappy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony seemed to appear unsettled. He muttered something under his breath, and stormed off before Aziraphale could stop him. He wouldn’t have, even if he hadn’t, but the thought was there. The thought of reaching out. But Anthony would not be consoled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know, Alexander, I’m not. And most of us, including myself, weren’t before </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> showed up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Alexander went white. “H-how dare you say such a thing to me? The Caesar? You ought to be put away for saying such things to me, to my face, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>faggot.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale might’ve kept quiet, if it hadn’t been for that last word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And for a boy of your age, you really ought not to be speaking in such a way. A word of advice: you look like a donkey doing it. And I can’t imagine that would attract any young woman, now would it? Then again, I can’t imagine any young woman wanting to be near you anyhow, so I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Happy, Aziraphale turned and walked away. Before he reached the end of the hall, he heard Alexander yelling:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m going to tell my mother about this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale laughed, and as he turned a corner he noticed Anthony standing there, by a frescoe of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was younger, and more carefree. His hair was a little less red and more copper than anything. His mother stood behind him, a gilded snake wrapped around her arm, her own hair tied up in a clasp, giving her a youthful effect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What did you do to him?” Anthony murmured, admiring the portrait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I think it was what I didn’t do to him that made him upset,” he said quietly. “I think he expected me to hit him. But I couldn’t bring myself to hurt him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They walked in silence to the library, wherein they saw Balbina sitting on a chair, drawing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t worry,” she called, setting down her paper. “No one saw me. It’s been awfully...quiet this morning, hasn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s what I was thinking,” Aziraphale said uneasily. “I don’t like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well,” she said, waving them over. “I have some fantastic news. I’ve been waiting since you two left with Anna to tell you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t just sit there!” Anthony said, rushing towards her excitedly. “Tell us!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright,” she said, smoothing out her dress. She looked up at them, a glint in her eye that told Aziraphale she’d been planning something, something big. “I found Aquila!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Woah! That’s incredible!” Anthony exclaimed, and without thinking he wrapped his arms around her. After a split second, he jumped back; Balbina did the same, apparently not used to the feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How?” Aziraphale asked, frowning. Balbina went red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I felt terrible after I found out what had happened, you know, with her being kicked out and all, so I went looking, when the guards were all asleep or were out. It took a lot of work to figure out their schedules, let me tell you! Well, one night I was able to get past the gates and went to the village and asked them if they knew a woman with her title and description. You probably can believe it now, but someone did and told me she was a boarder at their house!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My,” Aziraphale murmured. He really couldn’t believe it. The luck that this woman had was astounding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anyways, I know where she’s staying now, and we can all go find her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This is...this is amazing. Thank you, Balbina,” Anthony said, taking her hands in his. “I can’t thank you enough. Really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t say it,” he said quickly. “Just pretend I didn’t and we can move on, yes? Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina smiled. “Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina,” Aziraphale cut in suddenly, after thinking the whole of it over, “how long have you been working on this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina grew redder and looked down at her palms. “Since the night I knew. The night I found out she’d been...you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale beamed. “You’re extraordinary, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “May I say thank you?” She asked timidly, standing up. Aziraphale laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” and opened her arms for a hug. “See, Anthony? It’s not very hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whatever,” Anthony mumbled, but Aziraphale knew he cared. He was the nicest man he’d ever met - how could he fool him? </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here it is ~ my Christmas gift to you all! Whether you take part in the festivities, or don’t celebrate at all, I hope you all have a lovely holiday season (however you spend it.) </p><p>I do wish I could finish this story by January, but I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t know how much I’ll be uploading next week, but I can promise you that it’ll be at least once or twice. </p><p>Again, thank you all so much for your love and supports You keep me going everyday. I appreciate you all. </p><p>Dia ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. Parting Gift</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/NP869swP2po</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Two days later, Anthony was sitting in the chariot while Aziraphale drove, Balbina sitting beside him, telling him where to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was late in the evening, and no sundial could have told them the time. When the horses were stopped, Anthony could hear voices outside, and peered out the chariot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was standing there, Balbina at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina says this is it,” Aziraphale said softly, motioning for him to get out.“The front is apparently the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you sure?” Anthony got out, gave the building a once over. It wasn’t made of stone. Something cheaper, but it had been painted over with madder to deceive the eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina says she talked to the owners. They wouldn’t let her go with them, but she knew the place, and she recognizes the description. This must be it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright,” he said nervously. “I’ll go find her, then.” He looked around him. The street was quiet. Balbina gave him a slight nod, and he waved before hurrying in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He hadn’t even thought of knocking; yet when he walked in, he realized it would be pointless. The entire room was filled with people, so many he couldn’t possibly have been heard from outside, and reminded him of that bar he used to frequent. When he felt much happier with the idea of being himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aquila?” He yelled, noticing a horn player in a corner outplaying him by a long shot. “Aquila, where are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He heard someone call back - then a long arm waving him over. He hurried to a counter, where Aquila stood, holding a cup of what was probably wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re alright,” he said, a bit lost for words. “What are all these men doing in your house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I should be asking you why </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> here,” she murmured, taking a sip. “Not to fear, my friend: this is a bar. I live upstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Here? Up there? But it’s so loud down here. I don’t know how I couldn’t hear it from outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She shrugged, finishing her drink. “I come down for drinks. Ever hear of Petronius?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “‘Course. He ran a restaurant, didn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm. His great-great-how-ever-many-greats grandson works here sometimes. Had him out of wedlock. Anyways, he gets me free drinks and I entertain for work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where? Here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course here, you idiot,” she said, and grabbed his arm. “Come, I’ll show you the place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er- not yet. I have to go get Aziraphale and...Balbina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina? Is she alright? I-I haven’t seen her in ages.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s fine, yeah. Do you...do you need to come back to the palace with us? We’ve kept Balbina hidden from my gran-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” she said sharply, letting go of him, his arm dropping to his side. He stared at her, confused. “I’m sorry, but no. Even if you could keep me hidden from her, I’m not going back. Not ever. Not after what happened between us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aquila sighed. “If you get them, and bring them up, I’ll tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. “I’ll see you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She smiled. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t do anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ve promised to see me,” she said, turning to go up the stairs. “That’s more than what a lot of them did for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span> Four harried people sat around three dim candles, expecting someone else to begin the conversation and wishing it wouldn’t be them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Finally, Aquila spoke. It seemed to be on her; she was the one hosting, and she had not forgotten the manners entailed upon her by the other women in the palace: </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I had an argument with Maesa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Everyone thought the same thought: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Naturally.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But the question that lingered on Anthony’s mind was how an argument could lead someone to be cast out - from their home, their livelihood, the people that were meant to love them. It didn’t make much sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re probably wondering how that led to...all this,” she said, smiling but not really, her eyes sad. “She hurried towards me one night and asked why I hadn’t produced an heir. It was nasty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I told her of course Anthony wouldn’t want that with me, so she might as well go ask another woman, at least one with a much fairer disposition; but this was probably in vain, because then she slapped me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale made a little noise. It wasn’t his grandmother, and that made Anthony a little tense. He wondered if he was at fault, if he should apologize for what his own blood had done. But it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> blood, not really, just the blood that had made his, and she wasn’t really his grandmother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He told himself that to comfort him on bleak nights.. Some days it did him well, others might. Most often he just buried those thoughts. He couldn’t let go, not yet. There was an ounce inside of him that still yearned for her love. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to Aziraphale; but it was there, and it was reaching for a hand to pull him up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aquila had continued her story. She was in the throes of retelling when Maesa had ordered the guards to take her away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She yelled at them to take me to nowhere, and that’s what they did. Dropped me off here, or around here - it was all black, and I couldn’t see very well - and I realized I had nothing. No money, no job - only my name and my face. Those of which, thank Gabal, got me work - which, I have to be honest -  isn’t enough some days. I do wish I was a man. It would make things so much easier.” She glanced at Anthony and Aziraphale regretfully before continuing.  “The Severa line may not be much, but at least I’m not…” her eyes drifted towards Aziraphale and Balbina. The nameless slaves from Caria and the poorest streets of Rome. She lowered her head and shook the thought away. Aziraphale and Balbina, embarrassed, did the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “There must be something we can do,” Aziraphale said quietly. Balbina nodded. After a moment's silence, a candle flickered above Anthony’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve got it,” he said, watching their stoic, somber faces turn confused and surprised. “We could get married, Aquila and I. Divorced Anna and all - well, I won’t say legally, but things happened. What do you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Everyone was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m down,” Aquila said, offering him a hand. He grinned, taking it. He was quite good at negotiating. If only he’d been able to go into that business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled approvingly. “You know, Anthony, I really think-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, but what the hell, guys?” Balbina snapped, glaring at each of them. Anthony raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s the problem? Dude, your wife just left, what, a week ago, and now you want to get married?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “First of all,” Anthony sat up, upright, which was not very often, his usual slouch gone, and said very quickly: “I’m well aware she left. Secondly, I’m not bringing Aquila home. Not after the shit all these poor women have gone through. I may be an idiot, a naturally mean guy, but I’m not cruel. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” Balbina muttered, rolling her eyes. “I guess that makes sense. But don’t come crying when it doesn’t work out for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony paused his rant and glanced around the room, a sudden, desperate look on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is it, dear?” Aziraphale fretted, stealing a quick glance at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony buried his head in his hands, then looked up. “We need ten witnesses, to make it legal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Silence returned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh dear,” Aziraphale said quietly. Balbina laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No kidding,” she said, cocking a brow. “I told you so, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh shut up,” Anthony growled. But they all knew he didn’t mean it. “Let’s just go find the witnesses before dawn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And so it began. The horse's had left the stable. And now they were on the run. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tried to upload this earlier, but couldn’t...connection must have dropped. </p><p>Let’s hope for a better 2021, shall we? <br/>Love you all. </p><p>-Dia ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. Never Is A Promise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the chapter song </p><p>https://youtu.be/c5XptSCCciU</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They were running around for witnesses. Aziraphale couldn’t believe it. Anthony was getting married again. Really, it shouldn’t have made so much sense to him. But it would help Aquila, and he wouldn’t have to tell his grandmother because soon they would be gone. Going, going, gone, vanished, disappeared. Nobody would even notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> That’s what he hoped, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony had gone out to the streets to find anyone walking around that might be interested in a royal wedding. It would be preferable if they didn’t realize it was him at all, but you couldn’t always be so lucky when your face was on the very coins you used to get around in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anyone willing to be a witness for a very special wedding? You will be compensated heavily.” A few men and women approached him. Anthony was quite pleased with himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Balbina had taken the more brazen approach of running into a bathhouse. She covered her eyes and yelled:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anyone willing to be a witness for a wedding, meet me outside in five.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Aquila had stuck to the bar, where they roamed around the cramped room, asking semi-drunk patrons if they would be interested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Finally, they happened upon three drunk gentlemen who sat in the back, who were possibly the most drunk out of everyone there and looked it too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello,” Aziraphale said kindly, taking a seat besides them. “We desperately need at least one of you to act as a witness to a wedding that is to take place on these very premises. Would any of you be inclined?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Neither of the men spoke. They only looked at one another and laughed. Aquila rolled her eyes and sat opposite Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you want to come to a wedding? You’ll be paid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How much?” One of the men asked. Another slapped him. “Don’t even ask! We’ll be obliged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thanks,” Aquila said quickly, tossing Aziraphale a smirk. “It’s much appreciated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> <br/><br/></span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span> They met back at the apartment less than an hour later, breathless and tired. Aziraphale peered at the group, counting each of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s eight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t know slaves knew numbers,” Aquila muttered under her breath. Aziraphale and Balbina laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We learn just as you do,” Balbina said. “From the older, wiser children with time on their hands. Am I wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” one of the witnesses said, earning an elbow from another man. It was one of the drunk men from the bar. Aziraphale was proud that he and Aquila had brought back three, even though he knew it was more Aquila’s doing than his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s alright,” Anthony said quickly. “I could be the ninth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony, you’re the one getting married,” Aquila said. Anthony frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right, right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, we’re two short,” Aquila said, watching the unknown people glancing around her room. “What’re we going to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can be the ninth,” Balbina offered. Everyone thought about this, then nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That could work,” Anthony said. “Alright, that makes nine. We need ten, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll be the tenth,” Aziraphale said, stepping forward. He wondered if this was illegal, because he was in a relationship with the betrothed. Then he almost laughed, because he was sure legality had been long since thrown out the window. They didn’t even have a priest present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But how is it to be performed if the parents aren’t present?” Aquila asked. Balbina nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> One of the men from the bar, still drunk, still past tipsy, raised an arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve been to like...seven weddings,” he said, leaning on his friend, “so I know what to say to make it work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well don’t waste time!” Balbina said. “Say it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right. So the parents are here in spirit, as they can not be present due to….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Unforeseen circumstances,” Aquila said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> At the same time, Anthony said: “I don’t want them here. Oh, and my dads dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alrighty then,” the man said, almost collapsing onto his friend, “the bride is to be kissed and you are to retreat for your...bedding ceremony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s not...yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Aquila said. Anthony nodded. “Can we just get on with it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t see any reason why you can’t,” Balbina said. “You may as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They hugged one another, then raised their hands. Each one of the witnesses, including Balbina and Aziraphale clapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he did so, though, he felt the feeling wane. There was a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t smile. Something was holding him back. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey everyone! I’m glad to be back for the New Year...(this is my first one, right?) Time has sort of taken on a new meaning since the beginning of the pandemic, so I apologize if not. </p><p>I hope you enjoyed. We are really close to the end, and I’m really going to miss these little chats in the notes section, as I’m DEFINITELY taking a break this time around. I mean it this time, haha. </p><p>I hope everyone had a good start to their new year. </p><p>Dia</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. Tymps (The Sick In The Head Song)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>be careful...this one is gonna get stuck in your head! </p><p>https://youtu.be/EzgIV3yERfM</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Aquila had been left in her apartment that morning. It had been decided that several hundred denarii would be delivered to her address at the end of each month through her marriage to Anthony. She would be secured, protected, and accompanied by guards if she wished it. And it had all been made possible by the marriage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony, Aziraphale, and Balbina rode back just a few hours later with Snapdragon at the head. It was Anthony that handled the reins, Aziraphale, the man he called his husband at his side, Balbina in the chariot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It had been quiet for a long time until he spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well. That was fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> To his surprise, Aziraphale began to laugh. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just realized,” Aziraphale said, wiping away a tear, “that we’ll never get married, and that my lover is risking my life for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony bit his lip. He hadn’t expected that. Reins still in hand, he wrapped an arm around him, only to be pushed away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My gods, Anthony, watch the road! Watch it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> From the back, Balbina was yelling. “Yeah, no kidding! If I was Nero I’d have you murdered!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Too bad, you aren’t,” Anthony called, laughing. “Besides, if you were Nero, I’d have you on a pike before you could even call on your maidens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank Gabal that we’re close,” Aziraphale murmured. Anthony grumbled under his breath. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “S’nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale didn’t pressure him. He needed that. They drove through the gates, and to the surprise of the guards, it was them; when they asked if there was anyone inside the chariot, Anthony shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not that I’m aware of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lord, are you aware of the restrictions that have been put into place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What restrictions?” He asked sharply, leaning a little out of the cart. The guard smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The one that says young girls should not be out with their lovers!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony grit his teeth. Another guard elbowed him, pointing at his now short hair. The hair Alexander had cut. It was growing back now, fast as ever, but it wasn’t fast enough for his liking. He missed being able to pull on a dress and just feeling like himself, human and whatever he felt that he was that day. He didn’t feel anything with his hair like this. He felt like a nonentity pretending to be a man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Darius, can’t you see past that black, brooding hood? The rumors are true! It’s a boy under that cloak, not a girl!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How could I tell when he’s wearing a palla?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They laughed, cackling, and Anthony wanted to punch them both, but he felt a hand grip him; and he was reminded of his place now, and of Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He drove on through. For many minutes, they sat in silence. He was sure Balbina had heard. When he pulled in front of the large villa, the gardens looking wilted and weak from the cold and from their lack of notice, he felt Aziraphale’s hand loosen on his person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The encounter was forgotten, but it really wasn’t; they all knew, but they pretended they didn’t. He sort of appreciated it, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey, we’re here,” he patted Snapdragon’s side and hopped off the cart, rapping on the sides of the chariot. “Balbina?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m coming,” she said, and hurried out, looking a little flushed. She was worried, probably about him. “Thanks, guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t mention it,” Anthony said. “Seriously. I mean, it’s probably out by now, but I don’t want you...socializing about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s not your daughter, Anthony,” Aziraphale chided, patting her arm. “He means well. We don’t want you harmed, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I appreciate it,” she said, bowing. “But I’m not submissive. If I hear something about this morning, last night, whatever, I’ll say something. You know I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We know,” Anthony said, voice hoarse. “That’s what I’m worried about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t have to worry,” she said, waving them bye. “I’ve lived through worse before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As she walked away, and they waited for her to pass the corner, they walked inside. Aziraphale was gripping his hand fiercely, and in that moment he hoped he wouldn’t let go. He needed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Valeria was standing there, an uncomfortable expression stretched onto her thin face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where have you been? I didn’t even see you leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nowhere you need to be concerned of,” he said, stepping towards her. “Listen, I want a package sent to this address,” he pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to her. “Four hundred denarii and a note from me that says S.V.B.E.E.V.. Yes? Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “If you are well….” Valeria tried to translate what he had said, and though she had heard it before, her lack of Latin didn’t help. “Er, to whom am I to address it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Just write A at the top, then </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vale, Anthony</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the bottom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It sounds formal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s to a friend, but I like things to be formal. But I’m afraid she won’t be able to read my handwriting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt an arm press into him. Ah, he’d given away that it was a woman. Lovely. He could see the inquisitiveness of Valeria’s expression turn into one of sly knowing. She just didn’t know the particulars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She nodded, and took the paper in her hands, folding it until it was very small, slipping it into the fold of her tunic. But there was something about her that looked wry of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What is it?” Aziraphale asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She shrugged. “It’s just - well - the way you two look at one another. You look so happy when you are together.” Her face melted into something else. Something that looked a lot like guilt. This would confuse the both of them for some time, but it was not without an explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Love does that to a person,” Anthony grumbled, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. “Bloody annoying stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>  Later that evening, Aziraphale and Crowley sat in their room around a plate of fig leaves, pork, grapes, and posca, which Aziraphale had insisted the cook make for them, much to her abhorrence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I thought you hated this stuff,” he said quietly, watching him indulge. “It’s disgusting. Vinegar, water and…” he sniffed it, then pushed it away, sticking his tongue out. “Whatever it is is awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was wishing for it,” Aziraphale said, stirring a spoon in his cup, “because I realized I couldn’t remember it. As much as I hated it - and I still do - it’s the taste that I hated. And the fact that the poor and the soldiers that we employ drink this because it’s all that’s there. I had to have this, not because I wanted to have you drink it, but because if I don’t remember it, then I don’t remember before. Before…” he gestured around the room. “Memory is all that I have besides you. When we leave...I will leave all this behind, including my friends. Cassia, Dio, Cicero. Although I haven’t seen much of Cicero lately...oh, I’m babbling, aren’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony laughed. “Only a little, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know you can tell me to quiet. I will and can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But I would never,” Anthony said, staring into his eyes. “I love your voice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, An-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The door suddenly swung upon. Not knocking, not apparent footsteps: it was too sudden for them to even jump up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was Julia Maesa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What the hell do you think you're doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Eating,” Aziraphale said, holding up a plate. “It’s very good, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, grandmother,” he said icily. “Have some. Sit with us. We would adore your company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t you do this now, boy,” she threw a paper onto the ground at their feet. Aziraphale scrambled to pick it up. “Who was it? Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale read out the headline. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Emperor Antoninus Marries New Woman. See Serpent for more. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s not very sporting,” Anthony murmured, looking over his shoulder as he flipped through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t believe this. I thought you were better than this, child. You went behind Anna’s back, and for what? To get married to some...harlot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Anthony said, grabbing the paper. It was his turn to see what the public was saying. “Anna left. We’ve ordered a divorce. It’s all rather delicately handled, no arguments, no fighting about money or who gets what. Very amicable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His grandmother looked as though she may faint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who was it?” Who could you have married that is so better than a nobleman’s daughter? A woman tied to royal blood? Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony cringed. He hoped this would go well. Oh, he knew he couldn’t lie. It wouldn’t. His grandmother would overreact. Things would happen, he would get down. But she couldn’t harm him, not unless he was separated from Aziraphale. And she couldn’t do that. Not even if she killed them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aquila Severa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her face flushed. “T-the Vestal Virgin?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Er...yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This is horrible. No - this - this is the worst thing you’ve done, Antoninus. Worse than that slave boy, or that Antonia business. I don’t know why you keep doing this to me. Are you listening? Do you love your family? Where is the respect that was instilled into you by that tutor? Do you know what this will do to our reputation? Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He couldn’t answer her. Then he found one. “His name was Titus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?” Her face fell. Then scrunched itself up, angry. “My tutors name. My advisor. Titus. He...he left after the first marriage dissolved. But that wasn’t my doing. I know it wasn’t. He didn’t have much faith in me, but he cared. And why? Why did he leave, grandmother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She paused. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But you do,” he countered. “He sits with you at dinner. He’s your advisor now. And why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t have time for this,” she said quickly. “I must go. Stay away from that Severa girl. She’s just another woman wanting your money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before she left, she turned to him, her eyes sad and disappointed. “I care for you, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He looked to Aziraphale, then back at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But do you love me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She looked away, then walked out the door without saying another word. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. Daredevil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/Ymui4m4s6W8</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Late Winter, 221, Rome </b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Many days after their last encounter with Julia Maesa, Anthony and Aziraphale were inside eating their last meal of the day. They had just a few months left before their escape. While Anthony seemed ready, he was nervous; he would fidget and couldn’t sit still. Even then, as they ate and talked, he would get up, look out the pane of glass behind them, then sit back down before the cycle continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale on the other hand, wasn’t so sure. He was nervous too, but his energy was contained. He’d kept his cool before. This was no hard feat. But he couldn’t get around the idea of leaving just yet. Lately, though, he found comfort in the fact that he would be with Anthony. Things would be settled, and all would be well. They would get better after they left. He told himself that, and it was relieving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A rattling noise could be heard through the walls. Anthony jerked forward, his sunglasses almost falling off his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s probably nothing,” Aziraphale assured him. “I do wish you’d take those things off. You look so pleasant without them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not a matter of pleasantness, angel, it’s the look of it. Besides, I wear this not just for pleasure but for necessity. They hurt when I look into the light.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There is little light in here,” Aziraphale pointed out. “I’ve blown out most of the candles already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mhm, but it would be a shame to take them off now, wouldn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled. There he was. His Anthony was there, even though he’d been buried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I imagine you’ll be wearing them less after we leave? Britannia is quite cold and cloudy this time of year. I suppose there must be less light.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “When did you learn all that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale looked up from his goblet of wine, embarrassed. “Er...Gordius told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And you believe him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s been many times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, let’s hope he’s right, bloody arse he may be,” Anthony started to go on a rant, but faltered when a cry could be heard down the hall, then shouting, banging, the crack of a hand against flesh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That was someone,” he said quickly, pointing towards the door. “That wasn’t nothing, or just something, that was a person, angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Before either could stand to get to the door, it opened; the beads that hung from the threshold brushed the cheek of Julia Maesa, whose face was a burning, flushed red. In her hands was a person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale swallowed. Maesa didn’t speak for a second, but she was heaving and gasping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She threw the person onto the floor, the body sagging, defeated. Aziraphale quickly reached over and lifted up a strand of familiar hair. His hands shook. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Balbina. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“This is it. The last straw. Why in the name that all is holy would you have a...a...an unknown slave, or-or prostitute- or whatever this-thing is?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Whoever she is, you have the wrong person,” Anthony lied, but it was in vain. Aziraphale knew it. They had played with fire too many times now, and there was no way she would buy this. They had crossed the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He tried to pick up Balbina; he felt her body move a little, and let out a silent sigh of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’s no point,” he heard Maesa say. “Alexander told me just now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale grit his teeth. The little brat. And he had done so much to try and be good to him. But there had to be good in him. He’d wished it, hoped and prayed. But what was done was done. There was the possibility that he hadn’t intended harm onto Balbina...but he was reminded of Anna, and her arm, and the pain she had been in. It had lasted ages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was no telling what he’d become, but he was sure now that it wasn’t of purity. There was a slant in him, something that had bended over time. He was still a boy, but older and stronger. That was a worrying thought, the idea that he could grow big enough to harm him and Anthony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But his heart was soothed knowing that none of them knew that in a matter of weeks, they’d be rid of this place. He could do this. He could leave behind everything...for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He glanced up at Anthony, who was bracing himself for whatever words were to come out of his grandmother's mouth next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> This was the love he’d been waiting for all his life. He loved him. He really did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He looked down at Balbina, who was silent in his arms. There was no blood, no sign of struggle or pain now. He loved her too, but it was not the same. He felt sorry knowing they would leave her behind. Neither of them had figured out how to keep her safe while they were gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And now things seemed murky. Where could she go, now that she’d been found out? What would happen tonight, after the initial arguments?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He brushed those thoughts away. He didn’t want to accept them. They couldn’t kill her for being who she was. Anthony wouldn’t let that happen. But Julia had been growing angrier at them lately. She could do a lot of things when she got angry. Aquila hadn’t wanted to birth an heir, and now she was in an apartment in the village, awaiting money from Anthony because now she was just a woman, alone, with nothing but a measly job that doesn’t pay well enough to live off of. A Vestal Virgin that had disobeyed the only law assigned to her: marry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Something perked his attention, and he listened in to Julia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Valeria found her room behind the library while she was doing her rounds. A space so fine in a house so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>fit</span>
  </em>
  <span> for us...and you dirty it with your coterie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony did not apologize. She waited, as if he would, and when he didn’t, she continued, now infuriated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I’ve had it. I ought to have you punished for the humiliation and degradation you have caused me. This is it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina’s limp,” Aziraphale heard himself say. He felt sick, as though he might cough up bile. There was a rushing feeling in his ears. Too much was happening, too much running through his brain. This was not real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But it was. Balbina was not moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fine. It’s one less whore in the world,” Julia Maesa said, and spun out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They sat in silence for a minute before Anthony stood up and threw his goblet at the wall.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “I HATE YOU!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale soothed Balbina’s head. He ran his hands through her hair, trying to conjure up any life inside of her. He wanted to wake her, ask what had been done to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” he said, still watching her, “what are we going to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony looked down at them, his eyes, though covered by the glasses, seemed as unoccupied as Balbina’s body. Her eyes shifted suddenly. They were glassy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’s one thing I can think of,” he said, pacing the room. Aziraphale touched her face, and though she didn’t pulse as she normally had, she twitched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Balbina, darling,” he whispered, moving her hair away from her cheeks gently. “What did she do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> No answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come on,” Anthony said, standing up. “We’re taking her to the doctor.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span> They rode out in the night, cloaked in black. Snapdragon jumped the gate; there was no chariot with them now. Everything relied on them now to make sure Balbina would be safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Later, when the only light on the streets came from the moon, they reached the doctor's shop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The witch doctor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony approached the door and began to rap viciously, but Aziraphale stopped him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Isn’t there a special knock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t remember. And besides, I don’t think it matters much now. Look at Balbina, I mean, she doesn’t know where she is, and she won’t say anything. We have to do something </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“I suppose you’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The door opened, and there the doctor stood. He stared at Aziraphale’s arms, where Balbina half-stood, her eyes blinking and opening slowly. Then at Anthony, then at Aziraphale, who was trying not to entertain the idea that this man skinned frogs and dissected bugs for a living.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “In, in,” the man said. “Quickly now, I haven’t all night, and neither do you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They each nodded and hurried in quickly, though Balbina had to more or less be picked up by Aziraphale. He was much stronger than he looked, though Balbina was also deceiving; she was much thinner than he had anticipated, but something about her body felt heavy. She was not light and lively as Anthony was, (though he could guess they were the same size) but slack and listless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come into the back with me,” the man gestured, and they followed. There was a long wooden table there, and he waved his hand for Aziraphale to rest her there. “I am a doctor first, peddler second. What was she like prior to your coming here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She said very little,” Aziraphale offered, looking at his sandals. “And her eyes look very vacant. She does not blink much, and occasionally her leg jerks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah.” He pushed them aside and began to examine her; and when he had finished, he looked very solemn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She appears to have suffered blunt force to the head. A dull tool, if you will. It’s hit her badly, yes, and for why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We don’t know,” Anthony said miserably. “My grandmother was upset at her staying with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I had an idea in that regard. Whatever was used, it was handled expertly. Possibly a hammer...something...something like that...But she is not gone yet. I advise the both of you to take her to a physician. They could handle this much better than I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony looked to Aziraphale. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We have to,” he said, pointing to Balbina. “Don’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. They paid their goodbyes to the man, and rode to the nearest doctors home. Aziraphale didn’t know where it was, but Anthony had mentioned that the doctor had given him the details. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They stopped at a large home; Anthony ordered him to wait, but he couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But what if-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It doesn’t matter,” he said sharply, taking his hand. Balbina was still on the horse, leaning onto Snapdragons neck. “I have to be there for her and for you. I’m not staying behind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He picked her up while Anthony knocked on the door. When nothing happened, he knocked again. Finally, it opened, and a servant asked them what was the matter before noticing who was standing before them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My gods, Lord Antoninus!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Shh!” Anthony waved his arms frantically. “Please don’t make a big deal out of it. I need the doctor, and quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The servant let them in and stood off to the side while the doctor was awoken, only once venturing to ask what was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s nothing,” Aziraphale answered for him, blankly. They nodded and didn’t ask again. Finally the doctor appeared. Balbina could not be walked. Her legs no longer jerked. As Aziraphale carried her, they swayed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> After his initial shock of seeing the emperor and his husband carrying an unknown woman, he laid her down and checked her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s been hit,” he said. Aziraphale nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Very hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes,” Anthony said, wishing he would get on with it. “That’s obviously why we’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t think venesection will work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” Aziraphale said, not sure what that was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Or Aristolochia.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Which is…?” Anthony prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Birthwort,” he answered, parting Balbina’s hair. Anthony scrunched up his nose. Aziraphale thought for a moment, then scowled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s not pregnant, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, it has helped in dire situations,” he began, then suddenly reached for Balbina’s arm. “Mm, Rhubarb will not help either…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He paused, then felt her wrist. His mouth twisted uncomfortably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is she alright?” Anthony asked. Aziraphale bit his lip. She wasn’t when they brought her here. There was no telling how she was now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But there was. The words were already there in the doctor's mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s dead,” the doctor said. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale looked at Anthony, then at the woman that was Balbina. She was gone, really really gone now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry too,” he whispered, and reached for her hand. There would be no one to hold it now. And there would be nothing but the satisfied grin from Maesa when they returned. A wave of guilt hit him. Had they not let her stay with them, she wouldn’t have died. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But Aziraphale knew this: if they hadn’t, she would have died much earlier. She’d been hurt when Anthony brought her to the palace, and Gabal knows for how long she could have lived like that. On the streets…she had nothing. They had let her live, but secluded from the life she had grown to know outside. He couldn’t tell if that made him a bad person or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Would it be better to live and die knowing the hatred of others and having lived through it, or to die a life served away from that hatred, only to meet it at your end? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was no telling what pain had been caused to her; they had saved her from the world, but kept her from it. And yet in the end it was the shelter, the very home that they had given her that killed her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> No, it hadn’t been the house. Balbina had loved it. Loved her room, the gardens, the luxuries she never had. It was something else. Someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It had been Julia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’ll bury her,” Anthony was saying. It brought him back to Earth. “Just let us take her with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t,” the doctor replied. “I am sorry, lord, but this woman does not need a proper burial, nor does it need be known that I catered to you or to her. I will dispose of the body after I examine it a little longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?! What kind of fucking logic is that?” Anthony asked angrily. “It’s not like you can dissect her. That’s illegal. You may as well let us take her, and we can just let her rest. Where are you even going to bury her? In a pit, with the rest of them? Or are you going to let her rot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony,” Aziraphale said slowly, reaching for his hand. “Let’s leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony looked at him. “And leave her...here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. “Best not to push it. We can tell your grandmother that she’s left the country. It will be much easier than...than telling her. I don’t want her to have the satisfaction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony swallowed. He stood, watching the body, before looking back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, angel. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They took one last glance at her. Aziraphale found himself wanting to grab her, to have her stand and tell them it’d been a practical joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Some joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They walked out together. Silence. And it continued as they rode back to the palace, past the room that was once a woman’s, her door open, the contents gone, and a house that was filled with the hand of death. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0050"><h2>50. Left Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/MBrDONDeQIM</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> A week passed. Neither Anthony or Aziraphale could believe it. For the first time in ages, Anthony had double sleeping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale tried to console him. But it didn’t work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you want any bread and honey? Grapes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No thanks, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They sat together in the ballroom, watching friends of friends dance and gossip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you want to chat?” Aziraphale asked, poking his arm. He shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They’re Alexander’s friends, not mine. Dunno who they are. Don’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As if on cue, Alexander walked by, adorning a wreath and a long purple robe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to join the party, cousin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?!” Anthony snapped, standing up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, is it your little friend?” He inquired, peering past his shoulder. Anthony clenched his fists. He would not fight him. He would refrain from it, for Aziraphale’s sake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wish I’d thrown the knife your way,” he said. Alexander raised a brow, then smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wish you hadn’t ducked.” He turned and joined a long procession of people in the corner, who were racing around the room, playing some party game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” Aziraphale asked. If he wasn’t so tired, he might have guessed that he was prompting him to act, trying to ignite a light under him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maybe he was. It just seemed unlike him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s the point of fighting back? What will happen? I cannot ensure that we will be safe if we do. You said it yourself - no violence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And I am not going back on my word. You do not have to be violent to defend yourself Anthony, for fighting is not always a game of physicality. The fighting that will be done will cause no harm to anyone, it is just so that Maesa will not win. For if we do not fight back, she will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Winning? Aziraphale, she already has. She has killed Balbina. She has sent out our friends, forced women to be my wives that obviously did not want to be. I am not perfect. I have made mistakes. One being that I in my desperation brought them here, as I did with Aquila. In this way, I have not learned from her. She has left her mark on me, and has won in that regard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But you never forced Aquila,” Aziraphale pointed out. “You gave her a home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But I put her in a terrible situation,” he said. “Remember that disobeying the law by our marrying is death by being buried alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We wouldn’t have let it happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel, we never would have let Balbina die if we had seen it coming, but she did and we should have. Things aren’t always in our control. Yes, we could have kept her from living with us, but we could have done a lot of things, and it felt necessary at the time. With that risk came the risk of her being found out, and that was a chance we were taking. I’m not upset because I didn’t stop my grandmother. Now, we don’t know that she did it for sure, but I wouldn’t put it past her. I’m upset because I didn’t expect it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A-are you saying we should have? That’s terrible!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I’m saying that we should have been better prepared. We knew the risks we were taking, didn’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There you are, then. I will never say it was your fault, angel. So do not guilt yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale looked at him gratefully. “Thank you. But don’t put it on yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m trying not to. It’s difficult, because it could have been prevented. But I’m not going to spend anymore time calculating all the why’s. It’s happened. I may never accept it, or move on, but I won’t deny that it’s occurred.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled. “I was worried about you, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You ought not to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is there something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony looked at his hands. Then at him. He was appreciative of his glasses. They covered his eyes, which were wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I need you to tell me right now that no matter what, you won’t be upset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Just tell me, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale wrapped his hands around his. They were warm. He would miss these hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We can’t be together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The hands left his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry - dear - what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll get you out of here. Just as we planned. But we’ll cease contact. I’ll tell grandmother I’m sorry, and everything will be okay again. I know it. She won’t target you, and neither will Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But what about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’ll be safer out of each other’s way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But-what about our side?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony stopped. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. “There isn’t one. That’s a lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There is,” Aziraphale prodded, and he could see he was trying to hold on. He wanted to tell him to stop. Don’t. Don't do this. “We’ve been on each other’s side this whole time. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> do this, dearest, we’ve done it before. Hm? How long have we known each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony chuckled weakly. “Feels like forever now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” Aziraphale said, and Anthony felt guilty because his voice was small and stretched. “Please, let this work. We can escape to Britannia and be one. Just as we’ve dreamt, all this time. If we’ve survived this long, I’m sure we can go a little longer. It’s just a few more months-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Until something happens,” he cut in. “If we carry on as we do... We don’t have months now. Do you understand? You have to understand, angel. Please.” He was begging now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale looked down. “Yes,” he said, sounding strained. “I gather I must.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale sucked in a breath. “Don’t be.” His voice had a tremor in it. He reached for his hand, then held back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” he stood up and smoothed out his toga before nodding. “I’ll see you, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah,” he stood up, and they parted, both unsure whether they had made a mistake or done what was right. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Only 10 left. Can you guys believe it? </p><p>Hope you enjoyed<br/>Xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0051"><h2>51. Werewolf (II)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/Fby632bPn0E</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>222, February, Rome</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Two Months Later</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale slept in Balbina’s room. It eased her absence, and kept him away from the territory that was Anthony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He avoided him at all costs. They had spoken only a handful of times; Julia Maesa had seemed quite happy at the news of their separation, but Anthony didn’t change and neither did her opinion seem to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> One night in particular, Anthony put on a play. It was quite grandiose, about the end of the world, and there were snakes and a boar on stage that both got loose, and his playing of the panpipes was regarded as the most offkey performance any of its (few) viewers had heard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> This did not sit well with his grandmother. Aziraphale could not imagine what she had said to him afterwards. He really didn’t want to, anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Another night he walked through the halls, drunk. He heard about it for weeks. Rumors were beginning to spread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But he could never understand it. He had seemed to have winded down quite a while ago, soon after they’d confessed to one another, but just days after the breakup he was back to his old self. Raucous and indifferent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale ate and slept alone too. He would walk to the kitchens and ask Gloriana, a cook he had befriended, for any leftovers. He did not go back to his sleeping quarters. But he couldn’t stay with Anthony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He had nothing now. He didn’t know where to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He did not return to work. This was something he considered for a long while until he decided he ought not too. He didn’t have to work anymore - he was not sure of what he was, but he was sure he wasn’t considered a slave anymore. Maybe he was, because it was in his bloodline, and he could never really not be a slave, but he couldn’t accept it. He didn’t feel like a slave anymore. Nobody would hold him down anymore. He was rid of Gordius, of his title, of his job, and now he was free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But the worst part was that Anthony was the one that freed him. He had him to thank for his room, for the ability to walk freely through the palace without dirty looks. He’d risen to a social status above his class - one that was respected. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He was </span>
  </em>
  <span>the slave boy from Caria that had tempered the emperor. He didn’t own Anthony, sure, but for the time they were together they were of the same rope that tied them together. And that was something that nobody else could claim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Nights without Anthony were far different than those with Anthony. Nights they had spent together had been romantic, fulfilling, more than he’d ever felt. Nights without were similar to what they had been before, but there were notable differences. He found himself cold and lonely, as he had been, but now there was the reminder of what they had. There was the desperation for someone, and now there was the desperation for Anthony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Occasionally, when he was particularly lonely, he entertained the idea of masturbation. He and Anthony had not really talked about it before their relationship changed, but he knew Anthony had thought about it, and so had he. So when the time came, and both of them felt ready, they asked one another what they wanted to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale replayed the scene in his head. Anthony had described rose petals on the bed, and lots of silk; then he whispered in his ear what he wanted. His breath had been hot against his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want you to fuck me, angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And that had been that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He lay in bed, warm at the feeling, wishing Anthony was there to reciprocate. He considered a wank would do him good, and ran his hand over his cock until he came. He sat up, feeling suddenly dizzy; then he stood and walked to the vanity that he had taken from Anthony’s room, the one thing he had wanted especially so that he could store his books in its pockets. He saw himself in the mirror and drew handfuls of water from the jade dish that sat atop it. He cleaned his body before washing his hands. Then he splashed water on his face until he felt the blood that was rushing through the lower half of him leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He left the room, walking aimlessly until he literally walked into Valeria.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “El-Gabal, you look awful!” She commented, looking him over. “Oh, it’s good that we ran into each other, though. You must come quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why?” He ran a hand over his head. A headache was coming on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She looked around nervously. “Anthony is ill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He paled. Not him too. “Take me to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She nodded, and they hurried through the halls. She led him down a way he did not noticed ever before. It was dimly lit; there were very few candles on the walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s this room,” she said. “It's the infirmary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “Has it moved? I don’t recall it being her-ow!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She pushed him inside. It was dark, but in the corner a candle was lit, and the door slammed shut behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The candles began to be lit all around the room; and there, in the center, sat Julia Maesa. Her daughter sat in the corner by the first candle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where’s Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, he’s alright. That was a ploy by Valeria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open. She waved him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don't be so alarmed! You know you wouldn’t have come if you knew I wanted to speak to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He grit his teeth. She was right, but he would never admit to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why am I here? What it is that we are to speak about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have heard of your split with Antoninus. Anthony. Quite sad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You aren’t sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We are,” Julia said, then turned to her daughter. “Aren’t we, Julia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, mother,” she said, stony. “Quite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What else?” He asked. There was always a second demand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want you to stay out of his way,” she said. “And return to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He buried his displeasure. “What if we are to meet again? Cross paths, if you will?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Take a lucky guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She gestured to slitting her head. He raised a hand to his mouth, horrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “T-that’s horrible! How could you...why would you…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, shouldn’t it be expected?” She asked, sipping from a goblet. “My grandsons the emperor, darling. And I his empress, the true commander of this throne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be by many people, my lady,” Aziraphale said icily. “But I am not many people, and your grandson is no emperor. And if you are to consider yourself the empress of this great so-called land, then I should consider you the problem that you have pinned on him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> With that, he walked out, his heart bleeding onto his sleeves and staining his wrists where Anthony had once kissed him so reverently. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0052"><h2>52. Drumset</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/KtrhlSXmTOk</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Anthony was most definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk. He remembered this as he wandered the halls, pining for Aziraphale. This was for the best. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He’d told his grandmother, and she had been so happy, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> After a few swigs from a bottle of wine he’d found under his bed, he walked out of his room, with the intent of finding Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He didn’t know exactly why. But he had the desire of seeing him, and his mind was fogging from the alcohol. It made sense to him in the moment. Aziraphale and he could leave together. He would apologize for what he’d said. And then maybe they could sleep together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked to Balbina’s room, knocked, waited, then groaned. He knew Aziraphale was sleeping there. But he wasn’t there now, and the wine told him to keep looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> So he turned to the library, the more logical places of the two, and walked inside. He peered down the tables, where a few scribes sat, and some scholars were looking for something about an emperor that had long since passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It made his heart wane a bit. He wondered what he’d be remembered for. Probably nothing good. He kept his head up, peered down the shelves; again, no Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He went back to his room. He was angry - but why? He saw a fresco of himself on the wall by the washbasin. It was the last good one, besides the one of him and his mother. He didn’t know what happened to all the statues of him from years past, the paintings, the coins. They were disappearing. He was being buried alive but didn’t have the safety of a dark pit. Instead, he had to watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> In his anger, he grabbed the portrait, threw it onto the fire, and watched it burn. In it, he was much younger: he had not met Aziraphale yet. His hair was long, and soon it would be cut off as his grandmother wished. Then he would be whisked away to the palace, and he would be named emperor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He took another sip from another bottle. It was much sweeter than the last. He wondered if Aziraphale would like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> For a few hours he sat like that, until afternoon passed into evening. Then he began to think of how Aziraphale had gone missing earlier, his room empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They probably killed him,” he said aloud. Saying it made it almost real. “Probably slaughtered him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He glanced down at the bottle in his hand. “Could be the wine talking. But. I wouldn’t put it past those bastards. Bloody awful lot….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He began to grow upset. “If they killed him…” he would do a lot of things. He thought of what he would do. “I’d kill all of you if you killed him.” That was probably true. “I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>torture</span>
  </em>
  <span> you until </span>
  <em>
    <span>eternity.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt his face for his sunglasses, but realized they weren’t there. He staggered to the night table and grabbed them, put them on, then walked on out, unaware of the bottle was actually still in his hand or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he walked, he pondered all the ways Aziraphale could be killed. Each time, he winced. He was close to being positive that he was dead, and now he was on the verge of a headache from the alcohol, neither of which are a very good mix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stopped outside the library, and saw two familiar figures walk out. They saw him as well, the boy cocking a brow, the girl smirking a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Cassia, Dio!” He said, a little too loudly, opening his arms. They didn’t accept them, barely inching toward him, as if they were wary of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have you seen Aziraphale?” Cassia asked, causing him to almost stumble backwards at the name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you drunk?” Dio asked at the same time, gesturing at his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale’s gone,” he whispered, and walked past them, not even noticing their shocked expressions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He continued to walk until he fell upon the El-Gabal shrine he and Anna had ruined just months prior. It was still intact, the middle vase still standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He picked it up, wondering if his mother would like it back in her room. Suddenly, the wood panel on which it sat lifted up; and a door that he had not seen before, hidden by a large tapestry opened. The tapestry fell to the floor, revealing a small but well hidden room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He shook his head. It had to be the alcohol, but it wasn’t. It was a very real, very physical room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The room was glowing with candles on each wall; he did not know when they had last been attended to, but they were there, alit and bright as ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A desk at the front of the room drew his attention. He walked forward, and saw papers littered atop of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He picked one up, and saw each one covered in scrawling handwriting. He read it, his brain fuzzy, the words not yet sinking in:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Replace the boy with Alexander</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Rid by March (?) </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> Note: Get the other one </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>May have problems…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> His head was spinning. He figured it meant him, but seeing the words on paper, seeing them realized...it didn’t quite make sense. The handwriting...it was recognizable, it was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Footsteps. There were footsteps coming from behind; and when it registered to put the papers down, he turned and saw a figure at the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was a man with the face of the boy, a man he knew, though not well enough that his name registered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You found it,” he said, walking towards him. “Didn’t think you would just yet, but you’re a clever man, aren’t you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anthony?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “You- you’re Aziraphale’s friend, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man laughed. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then the name came to him, floating to the brim of his brain, which was only recently beginning to clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Cicero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded. Cicero. Yes, it was him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How did you know about this place?” He asked, finding himself leaning against the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s my job to watch over this room,” Cicero said. Anthony frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why...why would you be given such a high position? You’re a slave. That...it doesn’t make sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Catch,” Cicero called, turning around. He tossed a coin his way, and walked out, the door slamming behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony fumbled for it, a candle by the door blowing out. He put it into his palm, and approached a candle on the wall. He lifted it from its sconce and, taking the coin out of his pocket, held it to the light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He let out a gasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was the coin with his grandmother's issue on it. The coin with Julia Maesa’s face. The woman who had written the plans. The woman who wanted him dead. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you guys liked it! We’re in the home stretch now...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0053"><h2>53. Criminal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>If you don’t ‘know’ Fiona, then you probably know this...</p><p>https://youtu.be/FFOzayDpWoI</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Aziraphale walked back from his chat with Julia Maesa, apprehensive and worried. He kept wringing his hands. He turned the corner by the library and saw Cassia and Dio. They too looked nervous. Cassia had gone pale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He waved them over. Their eyes darted around the halls before they hurried towards him. Cassia reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder before withdrawing. Her expression was one of horror. Even Dio, who was usually just apathetic, seemed queasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you alright?” Cassia asked. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I could say the same for you two. Whatever is the matter, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony told us you were gone,” Dio explained. Aziraphale frowned, then laughed a little. “Oh, he must have been drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, but he looked awful,” Cassia murmured. “Like he’d caught his death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He went on and on about you, that he needed you, that you were gone,” Dio said, but Aziraphale wasn’t so sure if that part was true. Nevertheless, his heart ached. They had been apart too long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you sure?” He asked them seriously. They both nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I need him too. Could you point me to his direction? It’s most imperious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The duo nodded. “He went that way,” Dio pointed to his left, down the hall. “Straight shot down, I’d say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you,” and he ran down the hall as quickly as he could. He stopped at the window that overlooked the lawns to catch his breath before he bumped into Cicero. “Oh, hello, my boy! It’s so lovely to see you. Er…” he watched the man’s blank expression. “I’m sorry to be a bother, but have you seen Anthony? I thought he went down this way…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cicero folded his arms before letting them fall to his side. He shook his head, just a couple calculated shifts. “No. I haven’t. He never comes down this way. You know, you ought to check the bedrooms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale scowled, but flashed him a plastered smile. “Oh, I see. Alright, thank you. So very nice to see you.” He stood off to the side so that Cicero would leave him; eventually he was alone and began inspecting the hall. It wasn’t a dead end, but as he glanced down the other halls at the intersection he noticed that they were very dark. Anthony never felt comfortable in the dark unless he had a light, or if he was about to sleep for a day. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>And unless Cassia and Dio were lying…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>They wouldn’t do that to me, he thought, and walked through the halls until he knew for sure that Anthony was not slumped in a corridor or hiding somewhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where could he be?” He thought aloud as he returned to the main hall. He glanced out the glass pane and saw that it was getting dark out. Rain would fall soon from the way the clouds lurked above, hanging low and grey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He heard a bumping noise come from inside the wall beside him. He frowned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s odd.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel? You there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He smiled, felt his heart leap, then glanced around him furtively. Was he imagining things? Where was the voice coming from? </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where are you exactly?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Um-M’not really anywhere,” the voice sounded closer now. “It’s a secret passageway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked towards the direction of the voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A secret passageway? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He found himself staring at a damaged El-Gabal shrine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is there a vase there?” Anthony asked. He nodded, but remembered that Anthony couldn’t see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes. Only one, in the middle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Pick it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He did so, and suddenly a panel of wood lifted up, pushing open a door that he hadn’t noticed. A tapestry, which appeared to have been reattached quickly, hung lopsided; but it gave way so that Aziraphale could pass through the door and into a dimly lit room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony sat shivering by a desk, his body white as a corpse. Aziraphale dropped the vase and ran to him, forgetting all the rules they had sat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Be careful,” Anthony said hoarsely. “Cicero could come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ll need to explain that to me later,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around him. “You’ll have to explain all of this, actually...but I gather I have an idea of what’s happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How did you know I was in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I could only wonder how Cicero knew you didn’t stop by the shrine that often...and some investigation, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Anthony nuzzled against his chest; he was close to freezing. Aziraphale was beginning to feel a little cold too. He wondered how long he’d been locked in this little room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I thought I lost you,” Anthony whispered. Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m right here, my dear. It’s alright now, I’m here for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony separated from him, his eyes wife and worried all over again. “It’s not. It’s far from alright, angel. There are - oh, I don’t know - plans to kill you. Here.” He grabbed a stack of papers and handed them to him. Aziraphale began to leaf through them. He wasn’t joking. It was real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And the arrangement?” He asked, a little tepid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think they want us both dead. I’m betting we’ll have to forget it. You’ll have to come with me now, before they enact them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But- but who knows what they’ll do? You don’t think...surely…” he was reminded of the chat with Maesa, then swallowed his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Get packed. We’ll leave by morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale wanted to kiss him, but he refrained. They weren’t there yet. “Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you liked it everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0054"><h2>54. Relay (III)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Happy Valentine’s Day! </p><p>https://youtu.be/OI1KfJTrixQ</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anthony and Aziraphale knocked on the door to his old bedroom. They looked at each other hesitantly. Then, Aziraphale brightened, and he held a finger as if to say: I’ve got it. He knocked a familiar rhythmic pattern; it was the code that he’d learned from the others, and Anthony could faintly recall using it once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A moment later, the door opened. Otho stood there, frowning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you want?” He snarled, placing a hand on his hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale sighed. He looked at him, pleading with his eyes, desperate for him to understand - and now all Anthony could do was hope that he would. Hope was all they had now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I need you to get Cassia and Dio. Please, it’s most important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Otho raised a brow. “Why?” He was intrigued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen, if you don’t, I’ll make sure you never leave the stables again,” Anthony snapped. Otho groaned. He walked back into the room, leaving the door ajar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale looked at him, an amused expression on his face. “I didn’t know you held so much power here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He rolled his eyes. “Look, he wasn’t going to comply anyways. Might as well instill a little fear while I’m at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, yes. Because you are so imposing and viscous,” Aziraphale joked. “Here he comes now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony noticed Cassia and Dio in tow. He dug into the deep pockets of his tunic and tossed a book his way. “Thanks.” Of course, Anthony was forgetting one cruel component: the majority of slaves, including Otho, could not read. Unfortunately he did not remember this and didn’t realize it came off as an insult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Dio stepped forward and motioned them to come in. They did, the door slamming shut behind them, causing both he and Aziraphale to jump a little. It was Cassia that noticed this, but she didn’t know how to respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What's the matter?” Dio asked, leaning against the wall. “Honestly, I thought you were a goner, ‘Ziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We thought I was too,” Aziraphale murmured, before delving into the details. “We’ve seen plans drawn up by Maesa to have Anthony put out. We must leave as soon as possible - I can’t stress how important this is, but we need help getting to the city...and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And we were the ones you’ve come running to?” Otho asked, bemused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Stables,” Anthony growled, and that shut him up. “But yes. We need your help especially.” He gestures to Cassia and Dio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can try,” Dio said, scratching his neck. Cassia then piped up. “What do you need me to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well...I supposed I need you to keep watch,” Aziraphale said grimly. “but I wanted to say goodbye, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cassia nodded, her head low. Her hair - which was now quite long - fell too, drooping, limp, and sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anthony felt sorry for her. She was still a child, really, and yet she was so willing to help them. He walked over to the only window in the room and peered out. It was dark out, but he knew the sun would be rising soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We have to go,” he turned and saw their weary, tired faces. “Well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right,” Aziraphale said hoarsely. “Off we go then. Time to leave the garden.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The two men, Cassia, and Dio ran out of the quarters, while Otho stayed behind to keep an eye on their places as the other servants began to rise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When they reached the entryway, Cassia grabbed a candle from a nearby sconce to light their way. She motioned for them to stay behind. Then she walked across the room, holding it in front of her. She coughed. Nothing happened. She walked back, returned the candle, then waved her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Clear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As they walked out, Anthony saw Valeria, asleep on a cushioned bench. Aziraphale tugged on his sleeve, causing him to stumble backwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The guards!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do you see them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, but what if we do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I guess we’ll know when we get there,” Dio muttered, walking ahead of them. Anthony bit his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As they walked outside, Cassia ran to the bottom step and began glancing around furtively. Then she signaled for them to come closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, now what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Dio, go get Tulip and Snapdragon. Cassia, if you wouldn’t mind, please go and stand guard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The two nodded and ran off, leaving them alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You took charge,” Anthony murmured, curling a hand around Aziraphale’s. “That’s new.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And you doubted me? I suppose nothings changed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony laughed. Then he remembered what they were doing, and cleared his throat. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s alright. We’ll be out of here soon, and then we can sort everything out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A minute later Dio returned with the chariot, Tulip and Snapdragon already attached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I could see a row of guards at the stone wall behind the palace,” Cassia said nervously. “But I don’t know about the front.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Damnit! I forgot about the stone walls!” Anthony moaned, tossing his head back dramatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How could you forget?” Aziraphale asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I’m sorry, do I look like I’m going to remember every single detail about this place? I’ve kind of got a lot on my mind!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re the emperor, though?” Cassia cocked her head, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We don’t have time for this,” Dio said shortly, then pointed to the chariot. “Come on. We can get out of here before dawn if we hurry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s got a point,” Aziraphale said, approaching the chamber. “We’ve got to go, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> So Anthony complied and got in. Then, Cassia and Dio sat in the front, Dio taking the reins, Cassia watching. They drove in silence for a few minutes until Cassia broke it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can see a guard up ahead!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They had just reached the front gates. Anthony groaned. “Tell them it’s Alexander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As they approached the gates, he and Aziraphale could hear muffled talking. Then, the chariot door opened, and in the dark Anthony could make out the face of a guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you alright, Lord Alexander?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m just fine, just fine,” Anthony repeated in a monotonous voice. “Thank you, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The guard nodded, shut the door, and then through the sheet he could see him signaling for them to pass. They hadn’t made it out yet. But they were closer now. Anthony could almost taste his freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’re at the stone walls,” Cassia said, just loud enough for them to hear. “Almost there, just a couple more guards…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony held his breath. He reached for Aziraphale blindly until he felt his hand. “Do you hear that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hear what?” Aziraphale whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Footsteps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> From outside the chariot, they could hear a wild screech, and then the sound of quickening steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Dio!” He yelled, leaning forward, “go faster! Now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t! I have to get past the guard!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  A moment later, the gates opened; the chariot and the horses managed to make it through halfway, when Cassia could be heard talking frantically. Then she said to him and Aziraphale: “There’re soldiers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, bloody hell,” he felt himself sinking in his seat. He could see his dreams - everything he’d been hoping for these past few months - fall flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then a voice:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want them dead! Both of them!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt his heart crack a little. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maesa.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was her outside the chariot, and it was her that had the power to order the soldiers. His fate was in the hands of a woman whom he barely knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightened. He blinked back tears, then he faced him, his face now illuminated by torches from outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry - what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’s no point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?! I- you have to come up with something - I - we can’t give up now. We have to work together - didn’t you say that? Hm? Come on, dear. We’ll face them together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shook his head. “There is no something else. Not now. What will happen if we work together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’d be together, and-and face them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And…? I don’t quite understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Something rapped on the chariot. His grip on Aziraphale tightened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And one of us dies. Listen. If you run now, and I distract them, you can get away and I’ll make a clean escape later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But I don’t want you to escape later - I want you to escape with me, dear-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But I don’t want you to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He saw Aziraphale’s illuminated face, wet from tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he kissed him, and then let go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll be waiting,” Aziraphale said, weakly. Anthony couldn’t respond, so he opened the door on his side of the chariot, shocked by the amount of soldiers lined at the edges of the fields. Each carried a torch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A soldier standing at the wall had his arm raised. “I want the chariot to stop moving at this moment. Otherwise I will throw the pilum. Then I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> member of this group to step outside and away from the machine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony saw Dio, his hands still gripping the reins. Just as he lifted them, Aziraphale yelled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Stop, Dio!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But it was too late. The horses had begun to move, and the pilum was flying through the air. The chariot had not just reached the exit when a loud cry rang out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony recognized it all too well. He jumped out of the chariot and ran towards the horses. Then he fell to his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> This was the dramatic display he’d been planning, but he hadn’t expected this. Now it was all too real. Just as he wiped fresh tears from his eyes, Aziraphale had found himself under the chariot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Snapdragon was dying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her side had been pierced with the spear, and she was now on the ground, groaning in pain. Cassia and Dio slowly got up from their places and stepped forward. Blood trickled down her black body, staining her once miraculous coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony felt his heart leave him at that very moment. He knew what had to be done. “It’s okay,” he murmured, holding out a hand, trying to soothe her. He could sense that she knew he was there, and he recognized that this comforted her greatly. “It’ll all be over soon, baby. It’s gonna be alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He heard a soft noise from under the chariot and saw Aziraphale there, his eyes wide and scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Run!” He hissed. He looked away, tears gliding down his cheeks now. He could tell his grandmother was standing over him now. He prayed she did not see Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There,” she said gravely, gesturing wildly at him. “That’s him, everyone. That’s my traitorous descendant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He looked up at her as he cradled Snapdragon’s head. “Is this what you wanted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, it didn’t have to be this way,” she said coldly. “But you had to ruin it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She then ordered that he, Cassia, and Dio be taken out and put away before a riot ensued. “You’ll be in fine hands, my boy. I just wish I knew where that damn blonde went!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>You’ll never get him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, but dared not to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, poor thing,” she murmured, looking down at Snapdragon. She gestured for a soldier to come and pointed to it. “Have it killed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> All Anthony could do was watch. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0055"><h2>55. It Won’t Be Wrong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/5g10X3IqF6U</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Having remembered where Aquila lived, Aziraphale had made it to her apartment in the village just as the sun had begun to rise. Tepidly, he approached the door, and after having noticed that no one but a few servants were roaming about he banged on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> An elderly woman opened it. He frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I need to see Aquila Severa desperately,” he said quickly. “It’s terribly important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman sighed. “I’m sorry to say she disappeared last night. It’d be difficult to find a girl of such inconsequential description at this hour. I have a feeling if you were to ask any one of these stall girls if they’ve seen her, they’d say they’ve seen a hundred just like her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I just don’t believe it. Where could she have gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She said she was going out for bread, but that’s the last we’ve heard of her. I live above her, you see, and I was the last here to have spoken to her. Next thing I know, the bakers are saying she’s vanished. It’s happened all rather suddenly, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale said nothing. Finally, the woman cocked her head, her eyes scanning across her worn face. “Is everything alright, sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he mumbled, lowering his own eyes. “I lost my husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman tsked, stepping aside for him to come in. “Care for a cup of wine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He looked behind him, aware of a loud buzz coming from the village square. He turned back to the woman and smiled gratefully. “No thank you. I have to go save him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He hurried towards the direction of the noise. There at the center of the village, just as he had suspected, was a large crowd. People were slowly starting to emerge from their houses. He heard their voices and what they were saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Can you believe it? The emperor is truly mad, my friends. I have always despised him, and now my hatred is the truth. He smuggled in boys from the Ghassanids, Champa, and Langkasuka!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, but I heard that he was arrested for allowing his slaves </span>
  <em>
    <span>purple</span>
  </em>
  <span> clothes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt all his anger rise and fall inside of him. He had erupted before, but he kept his calm now. He would fix things for Anthony, and then, between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He ran to the palace, shaking and terrified. He arrived at the back wall, the last barrier between the real world and the artificial one that had been created for him. There would be two gates. He paced silently for a minute, trying to come up with something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned and, seeing the guard propped against the wall, noticed that he was close to falling asleep. Behind him stood a large row of apple trees. He plucked an apple and, feeling the weight of it in his hand, turned back to the direction of the guard and tossed it his way. It hit him on the head, causing him to sink to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Smiling, he grabbed the keys from the guard and unlocked the first gate. He slipped inside, now just a few feet away from the second. He made a soft bird call. When he heard nothing in return, he moved forward, unlocking the gate with imperceptible ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Upon realizing that he was inside, he ran through the gardens, scanning the rows of trees and roses for that familiar red crop. He didn’t see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He had entered through the back; if he had gone through the front, where at least a dozen guards could have been standing at any given time, he knew his chances of coming out unscathed were smaller. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> So now he faced the wide French doors that led to the ballroom; he was so close to Anthony now but so far too. He turned and saw the position of the sun, and could tell that it was noon. Valeria would be making her rounds, but she would not be circling around the ballroom at this hour. Aziraphale smiled. He turned the gilded handle of the door and slipped in without notice. He realized the gravity of what he was doing; he would have to find Anthony without getting caught. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Once he realized he was out of sight, he ran to the nearest closet. It had become a sort of storage room for clothes servants had outgrown or left behind. He saw a richly decorated smock and put it on. He could not see his reflection, but he assumed that it had not changed much since he last saw it. So he grabbed a pileus, tucking most of his curls under it. Then he found a pair of soccus slippers which seemed familiar. He picked them up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Immediately he knew: they were Anthony’s. He put them on, amazed that they were a perfect fit. Then he peered out of the little room and walked out as if he’d never been there at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He began to check all of Anthony’s favorite rooms: the library, the kitchen, and then their room. He even knocked on Balbina’s door, but when it creaked open he found that it was entirely occupied by piles of old trophies and furniture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt his heart clench a little. Then he took in a deep breath and walked to the servants quarters. He would say goodbye now, for good. He would look for Anthony elsewhere: his worst fears had been confirmed. They were holding him somewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He passed by the shrine where Anthony had been put away, the vases broken and chipped now. He would have kept walking if it had not been for a lock of hair on the floor that pulled him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Gingerly, he picked it up. It was Anthony’s. He knew it. He tucked it into the pocket of his smock and hurried down the long hallway that he had faced just days prior. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They were dark as ever. He knew Anthony wouldn’t go down these hallways willingly; but willingly was the key to his answers. Only three people in the world knew that Anthony was most afraid in the dark, when he could not tell his sorroundings: Aziraphale, his mother, and his grandmother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale told himself stubbornly that Anthony couldn’t possibly be down these halls. But he looked back down the winding hall, the remnants of the vases shimmering in the afternoon light. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Things are not always what they seem, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he reminded himself, and started roaming the right hall at the intersection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When he was met with a dead end, he grimly knew that left him with two options: walk down the left hall, or retreat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He walked down the left hallway. He wrapped Anthony’s lock of hair around his finger and silently prayed to whomever watching over him that they would spare him and Anthony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The hallway ended. He had found nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale took a step back. He knelt down the floor and felt for something, some kind of lever like the one that he had used to rescue Anthony the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Blast, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought miserably. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll never find him.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span> As he kept his hands on the floor to raise himself up, he felt one hand slip, then fall on cold metal. He raised it in shock, then looked back at the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a cellar door there, and he hadn’t noticed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Nervous, he opened it and began to descend the steps. He was met with another door. He was about to call for Anthony when he remembered the keys he had stolen from the guard. He lifted them from his pocket and began to feel the grooves. When he knew he had the right one, he turned the key in the lock, the door opening satisfyingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Suddenly, a match was lit; not by Aziraphale, but by one of the people behind the door. There stood the captives: Anthony, Cassia, and Dio, who was holding the match to their tired faces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, Anthony,” he breathed, the sigh of relief feeling like the weight of a truck being lifted from his chest. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” Anthony said quickly, waving his hands. “Don’t bother yourself with it. It’s too dangerous as it is, you being here and all. I’ve got a plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m going to start a rumor about Alexander. It’s going to make everyone sad about his health, but it’s not going to last long. It’ll all just be a rumor, but they won’t know! How could they prove it? They can’t. Then I’ll have to be put in charge and he’ll have to reside with his mother back home. Then everything can return to normal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I-I don’t know. Starting a rumor about Alexander doesn’t seem like such a good idea,” Aziraphale said warily. “There has to be another way…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, getting us out of here now is too risky,” Cassia said glumly, plopping on the cold stone.  “Especially since you’d be leading us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, how’d you even get down here?” Dio asked, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I threw an apple at a guard and ran through the gardens. Valeria wasn’t in the back when I entered, so I just walked on through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The three captives laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale suddenly gasped. “Oh! Do you need anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony waved his hands. “No, we have someone for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ll never guess,” Cassia said, giggling. “Otho!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was surprised, but happy. He noticed Anthony struggle to stand up, then began to speak:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Angel, I have to tell you about Cicer-” he stopped. The three captives and Aziraphale looked above. There were heavy footsteps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No time to waste,” Dio said quickly, pushing Aziraphale to the door. “Go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale broke free, hurried towards Anthony and kissed his cheek. He had to say goodbye. “I’ll visit you whenever I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know,” Anthony murmured. Aziraphale nodded, and ran out of the cellar, not locking the door behind him. Then he hurried up the stairs, but stopped when the cellar door opened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was Comazon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale shyly smiled. He was unsure if Comazon was on their side or not. Comazon smiled back. As they passed one another on the steps, Aziraphale let out a long-held breath. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span> Comazon entered the cellar, startling the three inside. But when he made it clear that it was him, the captives relaxed and thanked their Gods, or in some cases, none at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just saw Aziraphale,” he said. “Thought he’d disappeared, though I didn’t recognize him immediately from that ridiculous costume.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony nodded. “Yeah. I know - he...er...visited us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen,” Comazon said, grabbing a nearby stool. He sat down. He didn’t continue for a minute. When he did, his voice shook a little. “Alexander is making plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony waved a hand. “Don’t worry, I have one myself. I’m going to say that Alexander is near-death. Then I’ll kill him with a poison I’ve been saving, and all will return to normalcy. Everything will be back to the way it was, and Aziraphale and I can live our lives in peace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Comazon frowned. “That’s a shit idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Dio and Cassia nodded. “Yeah, that’s a pretty shitty idea,” Dio muttered. Cassia agreed, shaking her head grimly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But Anthony didn’t listen. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was pretty sure I’d uploaded this chapter already...I guess not?? Either way I apologize for the late update. (Am I late? I’m never sure anymore, but I think I’m over seven days due..)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0056"><h2>56. In The Middle of A Riddle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>By far my favorite song by Fiona :)</p><p>https://youtu.be/jhaFS6ql6Vo</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Rome, March 10, 222</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span> For the time being, Aziraphale stayed in Aquila’s house for free. The elderly woman living above him told him it was the least she could do for a man going through heartbreak, and the apartment was paid for. It would lay vacant and unused until Aquila returned, but that didn’t seem likely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Finally, March rolled around. He had been dusting off a large text that he’d found tucked away behind the bed when he heard a loud commotion outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He stopped what he was doing, slipped into a pair of sandals, and ran outside. He saw a palace soldier nailing a notice to a signpost. A crowd was forming around it. Bumping his way around the people, he saw emboldened </span>
  <em>
    <span>Caesar Severus Alexander.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His heart jumped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When the crowd dissipated enough so that he could read it better, he grew sick. Something told him he knew what it was going to say. The soldier began to read aloud the notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The rumor concerning Caesar Severus Alexander has been proven to be untrue. He is not near death; in fact, it has been a lie coordinated by the emperor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The crowd gasped. Aziraphale craned his neck to see the soldier, frowned, then looked at his feet nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Both men are to report to the Praetorian Guard, and effective that night villages are to be patrolled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The crowd began to disband, and Aziraphale hesitantly approached the soldier, whose face was mostly covered by his galea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello, Cicero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cicero looked at him directly now; he grew pale, then he bit his lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What are you doing with a galea on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m on special assignment from Lady Maesa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “What exactly does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why would you ever work for her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cicero shrugged. “The pay is good, the food is good, and I can turn in the prick emperor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Angry, Aziraphale slapped him. He watched happily as he recoiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Never dare say those things again about him, you bastard,” he gripped him, his steele blue eyes cutting him open. “Now, where’s Anthony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cicero wrenched his arm out of his grip. He wiped off his bottom lip, bleeding from where he’d been hit. Then he withdrew his gladius and placed the cool blade along his jugular.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I ought to make you my pet,” he sneered. Someone behind them gasped; and so he put it back in his scabbard. “Now. Follow.” He grabbed him and pulled him onto his horse with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They rode out of the village stopping just outside the palace walls at the Praetorian camp. Cicero got off first; then he pushed Aziraphale to the ground. Slowly, he lifted himself up. As he did, he noticed someone standing before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was Julia Maesa. She lifted him by the neck of his shirt, her cold stare shooting daggers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do we have, hm? A little boy that’s run away, that’s what. I’m so happy you're back, Blondie. You’re just in time for the show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “What show?” She let go of him, then raised her arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Being them out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale raised his head, dizzy from coming to his knees so many times. He rubbed his head, his vision blurring. When it cleared, he thought he was hallucinating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His breath caught in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony and his mother stood in the center of the clearing in the camp, the both of them tired and exhausted. Anthony’s skin had grown paler than usual; his cheekbones were much more pronounced. His mother’s own face had lost its youthfulness, and the only brightness in her eyes appeared when she glanced at her son. They were also divested of their royal attire; Anthony no longer wore purple silks and achkans. He was wearing black. His hair had grown out completely now; it was messy and wild. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He noticed a new crowd was forming, climbing into seats to watch whatever was to happen. They cheered as Alexander walked across the field, his expression triumphant and happy. They did not cheer for Anthony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale, seeing that Julia was behind him, her eyes only on her other grandson, approached the edge of the camp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anthony!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He watched as he lifted his head up. His eyes were wet. Imperceptibly, he shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa walked past him, waving to the crowd regally. “Welcome, and Salevete!” The crowd grew wild with intense anticipation. “Welcome. I cannot wait to present to you the tryst of the century. Would you please draw your attention to our Dominus Aurelius Antoninus and Lady Julia Soaemias?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As the crowd began to turn their attention to the victims, Aziraphale turned around. Cicero was standing there, smug and smiling.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry for the late post guys ❤️ </p><p>all the love!</p><p>Dia</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0057"><h2>57. Werewolf (III)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The last of the werewolf trilogy!</p><p>TW: Death + Violence</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anthony sat across his grandmother in her office. She tapped her fingers on the desk absently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know what will come, boy, if you do not mind your way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know,” he said, not looking at her. “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why didn’t you listen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I tried,” he said quietly. “But you never listened to me. You never cared for me, or for mother, or anyone else for that matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You don’t know me,” she said sharply. “I love you. This family loves you. I loved the old you, the one that upheld the family name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He laughed bitterly. “Loved.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She frowned. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You loved me. That’s the difference - you loved me, what I was before - but you have no love for me now. And why? What have I done to you? Nothing, that’s what. Just exist and be your puppet for years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ve done plenty. For starters, throwing your idiotic parties, bringing in exotic animals, ruining this marvelous palace and everything our family has worked for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You mean everything your husband worked for,” Anthony countered. “You have done nothing, madam, but step on my fathers name, and try to elevate yourself when you have no place in the world to do so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Shocked at this, she stood up and walked to the large window. “I have not heard such disrespect,” she said, demurely. “But I gather that this is just nothing for the famed jester Antoninus. You, you disrespect all that is sacred with your dress, your manner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do not disrespect anyone that does not warrant it,” he yelled, standing up. “You do not deserve any ounce of my respect, for you do not warrant it. Don’t you see? You want me dead - why would I want to give my attention to someone like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That someone is your grandmother,” she laid a hand on her chest. “And I must say it hurts my gravely, the way you are addressing me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am addressing you in this way because there is no other way I can address you, without tearing your face off, you miserable witch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her mouth dropped open agape. He allowed himself to be carried out by a guard, but before he left he yelled out one last remark:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, that is an insult to all witches! You are worse than that, you are worse than all the women and men of the world! You are Pluto, not Minerva! You are the snake in a bag, you’re miserable - and- and I hate you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And then he walked out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She stood still, and then she spoke:</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Futuo,” she muttered. “Futuo, futuo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Now</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>March 11, 222 </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> A week later he stood in front of everyone, his mother at his side, his hands tied loosely. They knew he wouldn’t run, for he had nowhere to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> His grandmother read out their charges. He shuddered at each piercing word. Then she turned it over to a young soldier. Alexander stepped aside, his smile wiped off. He looked glum now, very glum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt arms around him; he looked down and saw his mother, teary and breathy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I love you,” she whispered. “Love, Anthony, that’s the only thing I have to give you now, other than my sorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said quietly. He watched as the soldier nodded at the direction of his grandmother; then he raised his bow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony did not say anything more his mother. He thought that it would all be over, that the first shot would go to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But it didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> His mother, arms still clutching him, let out a morbid cry. She fell to the ground, her eyes wide open and still fearful. With her, he fell too. He was too embarrassed to look up to Aziraphale. He’d let this happen. He was a murderer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He could hear his grandmother's voice; no, he was not the murderer here. A woman just ordered her daughter to be killed. He glanced down at his mother. Tentatively, so as not to harm her, he pulled her eyelids down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry,” he said, still holding her. Then he felt a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thawp</span>
  </em>
  <span> noise. Then, a sharp pain in his side. “Oh, fuck.” Wincing, he pulled a long arrow constructed of reeds and bronze from his side. It’s body was blood red. The pain was immense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He wished it had killed him then and there. Noticing the spear still in his mother, he pulled it out. It too was bloodied, but the blood was so dark it appeared black in the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He heard his voice being called, then a loud shout. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aziraphale. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He was beginning to feel dizzy, so he let go of his mother, instead taking her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He saw a figure wrapped in white. Like an avenging Angel, they fell to their knees, soft hands cradling his warm head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He knew that it was Aziraphale when he heard his voice. No one else spoke to him so sweetly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Does it look bad?” He asked hoarsely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was smiling, but his eyes were wet. “Nothing a quick miracle can’t fix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> That made him laugh, but he had forgotten laughing hurt now. He could hear hurried, harried footsteps, people throwing out orders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He laid his free hand to his side where he’d been hit. There was blood. His hand returned red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And then another noise; guards, laughing. He cursed them, and though he did not consider himself a worshiper of El-Gabal anymore, he prayed that He was watching them, that somebody, anybody was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Listen,” he said, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. “If you can run, you can make it out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” he said, grabbing the spear that had just pierced Anthony. “No, I have to do something first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What - you can’t - are you going to use that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale kissed his forehead. Then he looked at him regretfully. “I’ll make them pay. I will, Anthony, for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Anthony shuddered. “Please,” he begged, reaching for him, barely holding on: “don’t kill anyone until I’m dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale frowned. “Why? I-I don’t understand-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve seen enough bloodshed today,” he said. Aziraphale glanced at his mother, then at him. He nodded. “Thank you, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Julia, who had understood what was transpiring, raised her hand for another strike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> A soldier prepared their bow, but Aziraphale, steadfast and angry, stood in front of Anthony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s in pain enough already,” he said stoutly. “Let him go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good,” was all she said. It made Aziraphale shudder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You really are a cold-hearted bitch, aren’t you?” He asked, stepping forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maesa gasped. Her hand had lowered; the soldiers stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And from a soft hand turned hard from work, a spear was thrown. It landed in Julia Maesa’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She fell to the ground. Aziraphale looked down at his now empty hands. Then at the soldiers, their faces shocked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then he looked behind him, his eyes searching for Anthony. His heart raced, and then, he found him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His body was lifeless. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>YES I KNOW ITS BAD DONT HATE ME OK</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0058"><h2>58. Bridge Over Troubled Water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/wcaOLPi6CWk</p><p> </p><p>^ chapter song ^</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Monemvasia, Greece, 252</b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>  A man of about fifty sat in a bar in a very small village, inhabitants few but kindly. He had short, blonde white hair. People considered him to be so unusual, having arrived twenty years prior with barely anything to his name but a long gilded chain and some books. He wore fine clothes, too fine to be from that of a slave or peasant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And so the people of this small village reconciled that he must be some godly creature - an angel, perhaps. He spoke beautiful Latin, Arabic, and Greek, although his Chinese was only passable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> People wondered many things about him - his name, for a start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Only an angel would have such a name,” his innkeeper said to his wife. “Only an angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “An angel? I can’t imagine that he’s so pure. There has to be something that he’s running from!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And there was. He’d been running from time for years. Ten of those he’d spent acquainting himself with the finest texts and languages of the world. He traveled and became a sort of nomad; but no place would ever be so perfect and homely as Rome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But now he couldn’t go back to Rome. He was recognizable, his face ground into notices about the murderer of Lady Maesa, the revered Severan matriarch. He knew well that eventually, all would be forgotten. The Maesa name would be left to time, but now he was caught up in it, hoping that he would get out unscathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Because there was something about time, something that scared him more than even a name like Gordius: eventually, time catches up with you. Skeletons of the past always come to haunt, and Aziraphale was waiting for the day his raised from their graves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> For now, he was enjoying himself. He ate legumes and quail, foods that he was familiar with in Rome. He thanked the gods that dormice wasn’t a popular dish, one of the few dishes he despised. He remembered it fondly though, for there was a reason why: each time he thought of it or passed people with bowls of olives, he smiled, because they reminded him of Anthony. And that was enough to be fond of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But when you love someone terribly, there is often much more to be fond of than their meal preferences. As Aziraphale walked the world, he found invisible traces of him. His face may have been paved over, scratched off and burned, but Aziraphale could detect bits of him everywhere he went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> When he went into a bar, just like the one he was sitting in now, he paid attention to the color of the wines, the stitching in the clothes a barmaid wore, and the fine engraving on the door. Things he wouldn’t have paid attention to if it weren’t for Anthony. He made him recognize the world, and for that each day he silently thanked him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> So he sat there in the bar, drinking from a small clay jug of wine, noting what he liked about the flavors when a woman hopped onto a stool beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello,” she said pleasantly. In Latin, no less. He set down the jug and smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You look familiar,” the woman said, her eyes outlining his features. He blushed. “Oh, really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes...I’ve seen you somewhere. But I just can’t place you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He shook his head. “I’m sure you have me mistaken, madam.” He took a long sip from his jug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you Roman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale almost spit out his wine. “Er- not originally, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You look familiar, that’s all! I was raised in Rome - you see - and...well, I’ve only seen carvings of his face - and I know it sounds incredible to ask - but you look like the crazy kid emperor of Rome!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The color drained from his face. She did not notice. She would also have not noticed, or rather known, that his statues had been carved over with the face of his successor. It haunted him still. “Which one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, the one that was assassinated a while back - I was a kid when it happened - but it caused a big scene. I remember it well. He ate flamingo brains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale laughed. The woman frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s so funny about that? He was assassinated!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not that, I assure you,” he said, coughing a little. “No, er - it’s just - he never ate flamingo brains. Of course, he ate very little, but he would never touch those. He wasn’t fond of the exotic birds, no, that was more of his mother, I’m afraid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman thought about this. She had grown very still as she listened; and then she moved animatedly. “How did you learn to tell a story like that? You must teach me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s not made up,” he said, quiet. “It’s the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, you must know what happened to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She paused. “What about the body?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He grimaced. “Would you really like to know, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The woman nodded, and the story began. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We’re almost there, everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0059"><h2>59. Get Him Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Rome, March 11th, 222</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale was running. He had been running for only twenty minutes, but twenty minutes as a new criminal felt like much more than that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He’d just stabbed Julia Maesa. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I killed her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his mind was alight now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I killed her. And now…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> He had hidden behind a barrel. He could hear horses; he peeked over it and saw the royal sun emblazoned on the sides. There was a man in front; they were most definitely looking for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And that was unfortunate - his hair was so blonde it was white, and it was so white people had a habit of looking at him, wondering what and who he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> That doesn’t bode well for a new criminal on the run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And then, he watched one in tow drive past - Alexander sat in an open seat besides his mother - the carriage painted black. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew very well what lay inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He wrapped his lined cloak around him, shielding most of him - only a few wisps of hair poked through - and prayed that someone might mistake him for an elderly man. He walked behind the carriage, and soon people joined him. They did not even look at him. Their eyes were fixed on the chariot in front of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The carriage stopped just at the edge of the Tiber. The crowd began to surround it, grasping at it, hoping to get their hands on some royal artifact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> And though he was tempted, Aziraphale slid behind a shop. He took off the cloak when he knew no one would see him, dropping it to the ground. But he stopped short of running when he noticed a book had fallen out of the deep pockets of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He lifted it up, his heart clenching tightly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe. In and out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was a copy of Daphnis and Chloe. There, between the pages, tightly bound by a strap of leather, was a sachet with small coins and a couple gems kept for safekeeping. He put the book in his tunic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Then he wrapped the cloak in his arms, and threw himself into the midst of the crowd. The cloak was bloodied now; he would have to dispose of it: then he had a plan. It was a dirty plan, but if he could just find the right person…</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A man stepped out of the black chariot, a scroll in his hands. “We are here today to find the murderer of Lady Maesa, grandmother of the traitorous emperor Antoninus, who was just killed for his crimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The crowd devolved into murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The perpetrator that we are looking for is unknown at this time. He was described as having...dark blonde hair; and is said to be of about the emperor's height and weight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled to himself. How wrong they were! </span>
  <em>
    <span>This could work.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It really could. It was beginning to make itself clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Suddenly, Aziraphale felt a hand on his shoulder. He breathed the name of the man under his breath. He smiled a smug smile, the hand wringing itself around his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve got you,” he said snidely. “Right, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aziraphale?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale was the one to smile now. He tore his wrists from Cicero’s grip, then mingled with the crowd, eventually ducking behind an elderly woman, crouching so that not even his hair was visible. He watched as Cicero nervously looked around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Just as there was a break in the guards speech, he stood and, grabbing the bloodied cloak, wrapped it over Cicero. He stood behind him now, completely unnerved. This was a risk he was willing to take. As long as Cicero got his due for the pain he had caused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice suddenly much deeper, gruffer, and menacing than he had ever imagined it could be. Then he frantically waved his arms. “I’ve found him! I’ve found the man that killed Julia Maesa!” Then he pushed Cicero into the clearing, in front of the crowd and the Praetorian Guard. He jumped back into the swarm of people, masked by those racing to get a look at Cicero. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The guard stepped forward and frowned. Aziraphale watched in terror, unsure if he would be recognized as just another slave, or worse, one of Maesas tools. The guard lifted up the cloak, nodded, then began to pat him down. When he was finished, he motioned to Alexander. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Would the Caesar please step forward and see if this is the murderer of Lady Maesa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale bit his lip. It was all over now. He’d be dead in minutes. Alexander stepped forward slowly. It dawned on Aziraphale that he’d just lost his grandmother. And deep in the depths of him, he felt a little guilty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not sure,” Alexander said faintly. Everyone in the crowd groaned. Aziraphale stood up now, feeling just as weak as Alexander sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And then, as if by a stroke of fate, or some other kismet, he locked eyes with Aziraphale. For a moment, they glistened; then he blinked, and then his gaze averted towards the chariot, and then the Tiber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think it’s him,” he said, looking around fearfully. “Yes, I think it’s him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cicero let out a cry worthy of war. “It’s not me! He’s lying! It’s not me! I swear it, on Maesas body, I swear it! It’s Aziraphale!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, be quiet!” The soldier said, hitting him. “Silence him, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Let the punishment fit the crime!” A guard yelled, and grabbing the very much still alive Cicero, drew his sword along his neck. Blood trickled out. The body fell to the ground, and like that he was dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then the guard tossed the body into the River. It went down with a crash. Aziraphale didnt wince once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Open the chariot!” He ordered. And it was done. The doors opened, and two red haired people collapsed at their feet. Aziraphale gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This man,” the guard said, gesturing the where Cicero had been thrown, “was the lover of Antoninus. He killed for one reason: he was to be thrown out for their immoral love! May his body be a reminder to all the people of Rome that these crimes will not go unpunished.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale felt lightheaded. Years later, when he would be long gone and far away, Alexander would be dying, and he would reveal the truth; he had in fact lied. The murderer was still alive, and he had since escaped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then his breath ceased, and nobody could figure out what he had meant. They were sure Lady Maesa’s killer had been executed - it had happened in public, hadn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But a letter tucked away in a bureau suggested otherwise:</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Dearest Alexander,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As you know, Cicero has been the finest help in procuring information about Aziraphale. I hope to have them both sent out, if only the latter could separate from Anthony. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And remember your place - if you are to defy me too, you know what is to happen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry for the late update. It’s been a long week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0060"><h2>60. Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>https://youtu.be/ekiUEPzLen4</p><p>^ chapter song ^</p><p>This is it. Hope you guys enjoy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “What happened next?” The woman asked, whose name was Maria. “You must tell me. I have to know!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Their bodies...were thrown into the Tiber,” he said quietly. “But it was too painful. I didn’t know what to do - you see, I’d never buried the dead. And my parents…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh, I understand,” she said, her voice quiet too. She seemed a little shocked at his revelation. “My mother died when I was very young, and my dad ran off when I was even younger. Never met him. Don’t want to. I was an orphan my whole life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s terrible,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s alright,” she replied. “I’m Maria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s funny,” she was waving her finger in that knowing way again. “That name…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Old family name,” he said quickly. “Er-named after a Roman god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The barkeeper looked up at him crossly. He bit his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Small Roman god, of course, very insignificant. Akin to, erm, Nyctimus. Or Pyramus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Odd fellow indeed,” Maria muttered under her breath. Then she looked up at him. “How could you make all that up, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He frowned. “The story? What do you mean? I - I didn’t.” He waved to the barkeep. “Two pints of apple cider, if you’d be so kind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You look pale,” she said observantly. “Is something the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He smiled, accepting the glass of cider warmly. “Nothings the matter, dear. This story makes me happy.” Maria couldn’t see how this was true. He looked as though he were on the verge of crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She gestured to the pint. “Do you like apples?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You know,” he said thoughtfully, setting the glass down, “something tells me that I should. But I love flowers and roses much more. And books, of course. Texts upon texts…” she noted the glimmer of excitement in his eyes at the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>books. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do too,” she said, considering the last time she’d actually tended to her roses. “The flowers, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A moment of silence passed; then she perked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Didn’t that emperor suffocate his guests with roses?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale shook his head. He laughed, his eyes crinkling - to an outsider, he seemed incredibly at ease - but Maria was no outsider. She had viewed humans for years; and she could tell there was something holding him back. But she just couldn’t wrap her mind around what he’d told her. She decided that he was mad, but that she should indulge him only because he was so polite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, that’s just made up. It’s all just nonsense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Maria nodded. She took a long sip from her cider; then fixed her eyes on him again. “How’d you meet the emperor, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He thought for a moment. Then his eyes met hers. He had honest ones - an elderly woman who had taken her in soon after her mother died told her the eyes told you everything - though she hadn’t believed her until now. Something about him was so pure, so untouchable…</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How much time do you have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She blinked. “Oh, I don’t know. All of it? I don’t have anywhere to be for a while. I’m meant to be boarding a ship to Petrea. But I don’t know if I want to go just yet. I think I’d rather stay here, and listen to the rest of your story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “May I ask something of you, madam, before I continue?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How did you know to speak in Latin to me, before we even began to converse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She pointed to the chain around his neck. A gilded sun, a little worn now, hung from it. The edges had become a little dull, but to those who recognized it could not deny that they knew its origin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That,” she said, smiling. “That. I recognize it well. But the story...it can’t be true. It’s too fantastical. Though I must admit, sir, you intrigue me…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what causes your obsession with him?” Aziraphale asked pointedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> She grossed a leg over another, settling into her chair comfortably, but her face denied any and all comfort. It was wrought with tension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can’t explain it. My memory has faded, but I heard so much about him, and he has stuck with me. So many stories, like the one you have told me, and they have never ceased to fascinate me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He fascinated a lot of people, in his time,” he said, with an air of someone used to reminiscing. “But I suppose you don’t want to hear what I have to say, hm? You think of me as an old man with only crazed dreams to share.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She frowned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could he have known that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She realized immediately how: it came with the wisdom he earned from the passage of time. She knew that older people were not always as wise as they were cut out to be; she knew that time often meant nothing to many of those same people. But there was something about Aziraphale that made her think twice.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No,” she said quickly, waving her hands. “No, please. Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He set aside their cups of cider and waved down the barman again. “Olives, please. And wine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I love olives,” he said cheerfully. “How about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Never had them,” she mused, secretly giddy at the shocked expression on his face. “Oh, here they come back. How am I to eat it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You eat around the pit,” he explained. “Do be careful, dear. Anthony hated them dreadfully. I think he used to say, ‘Why must we eat these? They’re terribly inconvenient.’” Maria raised an eyebrow as she popped one in her mouth. She chewed around the pit, just like he’d told her - and found that she actually liked them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And you know what?” Aziraphale asked. He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I agreed with him! Isn’t that odd?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose,” she said, in between taking the pit out, not really sure if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> odd or not. “So, the story.” She had become aware that Aziraphale tended to prattle on, but thought it to be rather endearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, yes,” he said mournfully, pushing the olives aside. He did however grab his wine glass and take a swig from it. “Well, where should I begin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right before you met him. How ever did you get into the palace?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nodded, thinking carefully. “Yes, it must have been thirty years ago. That sounds right...oh heaven, I am aging quickly, aren’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The story,” she prompted. “What year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Around 219. He’d gotten back from Nicomedia, and was getting acquainted with the palace. The first day I began working there, I didn’t know this, but he’d picked me himself…” he blushed, then continued; “and there I was, walking up. And of course, oh, it must have been Valeria that opened the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Valeria?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Aziraphale smiled again. She couldn’t help but smile back. He had that effect on you, an immutable, omnipotent power. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ll get to know them all,” he said, folding his hands. “From Magnus to Lady Maesa herself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Lady Maesa...you mentioned her earlier, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes.” He did not say anything else for a moment. And then, he took a deep breath, and recounted his story from the beginning, with all the sageness the years had given him; and to a small number that had watched Aziraphale’s movements carefully, they knew that these small powers were gifts, bestowed onto him by years of pain and turmoil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was with these gifts that Aziraphale related to Maria what had happened all those years ago, and the story of the man now know as </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘ELAGABALUS.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fin. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ahhhh It’s done! Oh my god, I really did it. Thank you so much, everyone. These past few months of writing have really gotten me through some tough times and your lovely comments (especially lijah!) are so greatly appreciated. </p><p>The inspiration for this story came from the true life of the Roman emperor Elagabalus. They tragically died at the age of 18 at the hands of their grandmother, Julia Maesa. They reminded me so much of Crowley and their love for Heirocles (Aziraphale’s equivalent) was so great I just had to write something down...and this is what I came up with!</p><p>All the chapter titles are from the amazingly talented Fiona Apple. She’s an amazing artist and an even bigger inspiration than I could have ever hoped for. </p><p>Thank you to everyone who read this little story!  I was planning on quitting actually, after writing this; but I started writing Folly of The Wise and realized that I can never really leave this community. Again, thank you. </p><p>-D ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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